Incomplete
by B.G. Potash
Summary: Years after Harry's disappearance, Ginny is a married woman, with a son and many secrets to hide. Does she regret the things she has done over the years guided by her resentment towards a man she still loves? Can she make the right choice, or will she be tormented by them in the end? Incomplete is mostly canon except for the events that are taken from book 7: Deathly Hollows.
1. Chapter 1: Mrs Alan Summers

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER ONE: MRS. SUMMERS_**

"Do you love me?" She had sadly remembered asking him. She was seventeen, and freshly out of school, and she had loved the man before her since she was a girl. It had taken him six years from the day they met to accept the fact he loved her too.

"I do." He had offered his answer freely, without any kind of doubt. He never doubted it, not when he told her, not when he showed it to her. "Do you–do you love me, Gin?"

"More than you know." That had been the day she had given herself to him for the first time. He had never asked for it, but she had willingly given it to him. She had loved him, and she still did underneath all the resentment.

She had come home one day from visiting her parents at the Burrow and he was gone. His cloak was gone, his broom was gone, but what had made it true; was the fact that the picture of Harry's mum and dad, which had sat next to his side of the bed, was gone.

Now it had been years since she had seen him last, since he had disappeared without a goodbye or even a why. But she could see him in her dreams; the nineteen-year-old image of him forever imprinted in her mind, telling her he loved her.

She still remembered the way he looked the last time she saw him. He'd been sitting by the fireplace; a sad, lost look in his eyes, holding a photograph of his father, mother and godfather in his hands. He had lost himself, and she couldn't understand why. After the war ended he been at the very least content, and happy to be with her, but then, things had changed, and she simply couldn't understand it. What had happened to make him change, to make him leave?

He had broken her heart, ended any hope for love she had ever had. He was gone, but she was still there, pathetically waiting for his return after nine years.

ooooo

"Ginny, Ginny." She didn't stir. "Ginny." She turned in bed, and muffled a grunt underneath her pillow. "Gin –"

"I'm up… oh God," she yawned, rubbing her face. "What time is it?" she asked as she turned to look at her husband, sitting at the edge of the bed fastening his boots on.

"Eight," he answered.

One of the things Ginny had always disliked about her husband was how vein he was, how sure he was of himself. But he was also strong, he would never break. He had stuck by her for over seven years, seven years he could have spent with someone that loved him. And he knew it full well, he knew she didn't love him, at least not the way a wife should love her husband. It had been all that, and more which had driven her to accept him, when he asked her more than seven years before. She had accepted the man standing on the front lawn of the Burrow, late one night, with Ginny looking out of her bedroom window at him.

"Did Charlie wake up?" she asked sitting up on the bed.

"He ate breakfast with me. He's in his room playing," he answered blandly, now more focused on his reflection in the mirror across from him.

Alan Summers was one of those people who thought everything about himself was perfect; his smooth dark, golden hair, his deep blue eyes, his strong jaw and chin, and his body— all of which he had spent the last twenty years or so of his life perfecting—Even his bloodline was impressive in the eyes of those who might care of such things. He spoke with purpose and walked the right way. He had married the woman he wanted, and he had a great job. He had all the right connections and the money—well he couldn't complain about that—He had more than tripled his inheritance since his parents had passed away when he was eighteen. Life was good for the three Summers: Alan, Ginny and their son Charlie.

"Why didn't you wake me up for breakfast?" she asked after stretching.

"You got home late last night, I thought maybe you would appreciate some extra sleep." He pulled his pant leg over his boot. He put his hands over his knees, and sat still for a moment. He wanted to ask her, Ginny was sure of it. He wanted to say something, ask her were she'd really been, but he didn't, instead he stood up and walked to the mirror.

"I think you're right," she answered, yawning again, letting his hesitation go unnoticed. She noticed, she always did, but like Alan, she never questioned it. It suited her, or maybe it suited both of them, this conscious ignorance.

"Do you work today?" he asked, glancing back at her, and then back at his own reflection as he flattened the front of his robes.

She looked at him for a moment, leaning forward on her hands, watching him fix the corner of his robes, watching him pull at a seemingly invisible piece of lint from it.

"Later," she said after a moment, standing up. "I'll take Charlie to mum's and then I have to go into the office for a few hours. I won't be too late. Klinny has some papers I have to look over," she added, walking to the bathroom, Alan following closely behind, smoothing his hair down with the palm of his hand.

"I'll see you tonight then?" he spoke monotonously, placing a kiss on her cheek, like he had done so many times before.

"Of course," she answered.

It was like a practice dance between them. He did the same thing every morning, said the same things, asked the same questions, and always, she answered him in the same way.

He took one last glance at his hair in the bathroom mirror, fixing any strands of it that might have moved out of place when he leaned down to kiss his wife. "Have a good day," he said as he left the bathroom not even offering his wife a look or a smile.

Alan, in Ginny's eyes; seemed to have two sides—like most people—The one she knew and lived with, was the part of him that followed plans, stayed on track, and always made sure he choose correctly before making any decision. That was the part of him that never questioned her, the part that was safe, the piece of him—where she could say—she knew him. He would never mistreat her, never question her, and he would always make sure his family was comfortable, and content.

Ginny knew—or she'd eventually realized—or maybe she'd always known—that love wasn't one of the things that made him act that way he did towards her. She knew he had married her, because she was good for him, for what he wanted in life, and she had married him for the same reasons. Alan didn't seem to expect love from her, just loyalty.

ooooo

Ginny had dropped Charlie off at the Burrow with her mother. Now she was sitting in a living room, fiddling with a tassel on one of the throw pillows as she waited.

She looked around the room. She had been there the day before, but before that she had had no reason to go there while he'd been away. Now sitting there, waiting for him, she couldn't believe she was back. As always, they'd had a fight, they had yelled at each other, she had told him they were done, but before she'd even stepped out of the room, he had grabbed at her, and he had convinced her to stay, to come back. And now, there she was once more, waiting for him, like an addict returning to her drug.

A large portrait of his parents hung above the fireplace. The old woman in the portrait had smiled sweetly at her; she had often spoken to Ginny, told her how nice of a young man her son was. The old man had proudly assured that his son was a great man, that she should consider him, if she was looking, of course. She had answer politely to both, and Daniel had laughed at how she respected portraits, when they weren't even real people, just their painted representations. She always answered with a smile and a shrug.

Another portrait of a man in a ruffled neck shirt, had recited sonnets to her in old English. He had assured her he wrote them, but she recognized them as being written by the muggle writer and poet, William Shakespeare.

She sighed and looked at the clock on the wall to the left, he was late, like always. She took a deep breath closing her eyes and pressed the bridge of her nose. As she opened her eyes, two arms embraced her. She smiled, as the man behind her kissed her neck.

"I missed you," he breathed in a whisper as he walked around, and sat next to her. He kissed her deeply, holding her by the back of the neck, pulling her to him.

"Me too," she said after he'd pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. His hand move down her side to her waist and he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her, resting his chin on her shoulder, sighing.

"That bloody job of mine. I should quit, leave that prat of a boss of mine to his own means, spend all my time with you," she laughed, sliding her fingers through his dark hair.

They pulled apart, falling back onto the couch side by side. She looked at him, resting her hand on his chest. She looked at his raven black hair, his deep, emerald eyes, but no scar.

Daniel Engal was the closes Ginny had gotten to Harry. He reminded her so much of him. They were so much alike, from the physical, all the way to the temperament. Strong willed, loyal, and the ability to love with every fiber of his being.

Daniel was the passion in her life, the ecstasy she needed to stay alive. Even after marrying Alan, she had not been able to leave Daniel. It didn't matter, not really. Ginny had not felt guilty about it all, not when it came to her husband at least. Alan wanted the perfect family, but what did he expect? It had been years since she had allowed him to touch her. She wasn't stupid; she knew that from the very beginning Alan had been getting what Ginny didn't give him, elsewhere, just like she did with Daniel.

"You know you wont," she said, kissing the side of his face. "How would you feed yourself?" she asked, giggling as he had found a particular tender spot in her neck.

"You know I don't need the job, not with the gold my parents left me. Besides if I really need it, I can go to America, work for my uncle. You could leave that pretty boy of yours, we can run away together. You, Charlie, and me, a family," he said in between kisses.

He had always included Charlie in his plans with her, and she loved him for it. Only if she could. Daniel with his plans for a future together, with her and her son, without Alan. Daniel with his kisses and his love for her.

She sighed. "You know I can't do that, you're bad for me," Ginny said after a moment.

"I'll be good," he said with a wicked smile.

"Oh, but you wouldn't be any good to me that way." She smiled back, and laughed. She pushed him away and stood up to run up the stairs.

"Oh, I'm good any way," he called, pushing himself off the couch, following her up the stairs with a devious smile on his face.

ooooo

A while later, she was back in his bed, where she had promised herself she would never be again. But she was weak, and he was so insistent, so beautiful, so addictive.

She could never have enough of him. He was strong, yet she felt that if she left him he would break, he had told her so on many occasion, and she believed him. When she had tried to leave him, he had always found a way to get her to come back to him. The last time, a year before, he had come crying to her door, begging her to not leave him. Alan had been at work, and when she'd come down the stairs—after hearing all the ruckus—she was shocked to find Daniel, with his arms bound tightly around a startled Charlie, telling him in between sobs, "I love her." For a moment, she taught she saw Harry.

"Do you love me?" He was laying next to her, his hand caressing her hair, his legs around her, holding her tight against him.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Danny," she said, a sad look on her face. Of course he knew what she was trying to say, she could see it in the way his expression changed. She sighed as he turned around away from her, sitting up on the side of the bed. "Don't get upset," she said, moving closer to him, placing a hand on his smooth back. He didn't answer.

She sat up, and put her arms around him, kissing his back. "I love you, but not in the way you want me to, you know that. Can't it be enough you have me, Love?" she asked.

She yelped as he turned around, and fell on her, knocking her back into the bed, a smile on his face. She laughed, as he kissed her all down her neck, down her shoulder, all the way down to the tips of her fingers.

"I do," he said, burning her with that intense look of his, that look that said that the very thought of her made his heart beat. "My love is enough for both of us. You don't have to love me, I know you love him."

She closed her eyes with a pained expression, "don't" she said. Don't bring Harry up, she was asking, but he didn't listen, and he kept on.

"I just wish you would understand that he'll never come back. You know that, don't you? It's been nine years, Ginny, nine years and the bastard hasn't come back. If he loved you, it would be him here, in this bed with you, not me."

"Daniel, please," she said, begging him to stop. She didn't need reminding of how long Harry had been gone for. Every day she remembered. Every day it pained her to remember what he'd done, the the way he'd simply disappeared leaving her behind. "I've asked you before, please," she said her eyes hard, her voice steady, but it all seemed to be falling on deaf ears because he didn't stop.

"You know what that means, don't you, Love? Its me you need to love, me, not Harry fucking Potter."

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment it looked as though she were about to cry, but then her expression hardened, and she pushed him off of her, getting off the bed, reaching for her clothes.

"You promised, but I should have known better," she was saying as she got into her pants. "You're... I let you convince me, as if anything is going to change," she said, grabbing her shirt from the floor, and slipping it on over her head. "I should know better by know," she said sitting at the edge of the bed, slipping on her shoes, "I should know you can't change, and that's on me," she said, standing up, and pulling her hair into a pony tail.

"Ginny, Love, don't be mad," Daniel said, finally realizing what he'd done, what he'd said. "I didn't mean to, I swear I won't bring him up again. I swear we're all good, no need to leave, Darling," he said as he walked to her, putting his arms around her, but she pushed him back.

"No its not, because no matter how much you promise, you can't help yourself. I know that, I've always known that, and still here I am again."

"Come on, Gin." He was trying to turn her by the arm, "what about Charlie?"

"What about him?" Ginny said turning around, her eyes burning.

"He needs a father," Daniel said.

"He has a father."

"That Alan," Daniel said turning away pacing a couple feet back, "buying gifts, giving him anything he wants, but then ignoring him. That's no father. I should be the one taking care of you two."

"Enough, Daniel."

"I know it. You wont tell me, but I know," Daniel continued, turning back to face Ginny.

"Stop it," she said calmly facing the ground.

"I know he's mine, yet you wouldn't marry me, you married him instead," he said stepping forward, closer to her.

"Marry you?" she said sadly, "I couldn't marry you, you wouldn't have made any better of a father. I know you, you would have left. Men like you—"

"Men like me?"

"Yes, men like you always leave, when it gets too much to handle. The only reason you haven't is because I've done all the leaving in this...this agreement."

"Agreement?" Daniel was standing inches from her, now he was the angry one, now he was the one who'd been said the wrong thing.

"It should have been over yesterday, but I let you pull me back, I let myself back to you," she said, turning to walk way. "Please don't look for me, don't call me. This over, and it's real this time. Goodbye, Daniel," she finished, and without another word, or gesture, she walked out the door. Leaving Daniel stunned, were she had left him standing, not only his body cold and naked, but his heart as well.

He started to breath deeply, started to hyperventilate. "No…. no, no, no, no, no!" And without any warning he drove his head into the mirror. As the glass shattered, he fell to the floor and began to cry desperately, his face beginning to fill with blood. In a matter of seconds, Ginny was standing over him, her hands over his face, trying to stop the blood that was now dripping down his neck.

He knew her; she would never leave him. Not because of love, or even affection, it was guilt. He could always count on guilt to keep her coming back to him, day after day, year after year. He made sure she never left, even if she didn't run away with him, and leave her husband, she would always come back to his bed.

"Daniel, what did you do?" she was saying as she pulled a shirt that was on the floor next to him, placing it over his bleeding face.

"Why...? Why c-cant you love me?" he cried, pulling her into a desperate hug, tightly holding on to her.

"We have to stop the bleeding, Daniel," she was saying, trying to pull herself away from his death grip.

"Love me, Ginny, don't love him, love me, love me." She knew who he was talking about, he was talking about Harry.

"Daniel, please let go of me, let me heal that cut. If we leave it too long you'll end up in St. Mungo's."

"Don't leave me, Ginny, please, don't leave me," he was still saying, unwilling to let go of her.


	2. Chapter 2: Everything's Not Alright

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO: EVERYTHING'S NOT ALRIGHT**

It was nighttime by the time she was able to calm Daniel down. She'd healed his injured face as best she could, and then begrudgingly promised to not leave him. Yes, she would not leave him, that was all he needed, to know that she would be back tomorrow and everyday after that.

For now he had her, her body at least, because her love she would not give away to anyone. She would not tell him she loved him, even when he begged her to. She would not be that cruel.

She would have to leave him one day, and telling him she loved him, just to ease his heart, would be the worst thing she could do. If she did that, it wouldn't be a mirror, and a cut on the face next time, he would pull out his own heart, if it meant she'd never leave him.

She left him lying in bed, with the potion she had given him; he would sleep until the next morning. She kissed him softly on the forehead, like a mother would a child. She smiled at him sadly before walking out of the room. Sighing, she fastened her cloak, and walked out of his house. Down the front walk to the gate, and then with a loud crack, she dissaparated to her mother's house.

ooooo

"He fell asleep," Molly was saying, when Ginny arrived at the Burrow. She'd gone up to check on Charlie, he was fast asleep in her old room.

"What took you so long?" Molly asked, as Ginny sat at the kitchen, table waiting for her mother to finish serving them both some tea.

"Can he stay here, mum?" she asked taking the tea cup from her mother's hands.

"Of course he can, you don't even have to ask. Hard day at the office?" she asked.

She had noticed it the second she saw her daughter. She had seen it many times in her face before. Ginny was looking down at her hands, a lost look in her eyes, the empty expression of being overwhelmed with the world. "It's that boy isn't it?" Molly asked, to which Ginny nodded without even bothering to deny it.

Ginny had told her mother about Daniel. Molly didn't know who it was, or how long it had been going on for, all she knew was that her daughter seem to be unable to leave the man. Also, the fact that he looked, and even sometimes acted, so much like Harry.

"I tried to leave him today," Ginny said, still not looking up at her mother. When ever she spoke of Daniel with her mother, she would rarely look directly in her eyes. She was too ashamed. However, she also knew she had to tell someone, and the only person who would not judge, who would not hate her for it, was right in front of her. "He broke his face on a mirror, when I told him I wasn't coming back," she said, her heart sinking deeper with each word. Molly gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Is he?" she asked tentatively.

"He's fine. He's always fine after I promise I'll be back… But I'm not," she said, finally mustering a look at her mother, with her red-rimmed eyes, glistening with the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Ginny, this can't go on. You have to speak to that boy when things calm down, and he'll have to understand."

"He wont, he'll kill himself if I leave," she said.

"Ginny," her mother said, standing up and walking to her daughter, "you have to worry about yourself, darling. He'll be fine, he'll get over it, nobody dies of a broken heart, you more than anyone else knows that," Molly said, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders, turning her so that their eyes met again since Ginny had gone back to looking down. "Look at me," she said lifting her chin with one hand. Ginny was now crying, her face stained with tears, breathing deeply and harshly. "Never be ashamed of yourself, Ginevra, we all make mistakes. All we have to do is pick ourselves up when it's all over, and learn to forgive ourselves. But this has to be over, enough is enough."

"You don't see him, his eyes. He tells me these things, and I believe him, if you only saw his eyes, you would too. He won't be okay, Mum, not if I leave. I'm afraid of waking up one day and finding out he's dead. If that happens, I'll know why, I couldn't live with that.

"I loved him, and he left me, but I'm strong enough, Mum. But Daniel, if you just saw him, I have to be strong for him because he's not. He'll break if I leave. It's my fault for letting anything happen in the first place," she said, whispering the last.

Ginny looked up at the ceiling, blinking as the tears made their way down her cheek. She made a chocking sound, and then, unable to stop it, she started to cry. It was a gut wrenching, guttural sound. It was pain, fear, but more so, it was resentment. Resentment towards Harry for leaving her, resentment towards herself for allowing it to crush her, for allowing herself to fall so low.

Mrs. Weasley was holding her tightly, shushing her sweetly, softly rocking her back and forth, comforting her daughter. "Its okay, you're fine, everything is alright, your with mum," was all she said to her.

ooooo

"Are you alright?" Alan was sitting across from her, it was Sunday morning, and the events of that Tuesday, were now weighing over her like a twenty pound boulder on each shoulder.

"What?" she said looking up. Her husband was looking uncertainly at her.

"You've been acting strange all week," he said, "more quiet than usual, and Charlie has been sleeping at your mother's since Tuesday. So, are you alright?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. Just having a hard week at work. I told mum, I'd let Charlie stay while dad was away." Alan skeptically looked at her. "So she wont be alone, you know how she is," Ginny added for good measure.

"You're sure then?" he asked one final time.

"Absolutely sure," she said, ending in a forced smile. He looked at her for a couple of more minutes, then he went back to his breakfast and the Daily Prophet he'd been reading.

ooooo

Once a month on a Sunday, the Weasleys gathered at the Burrow: Ginny, Alan and Charlie, the Summers family. Bill, Fleur and their daughter Gwynne who was now six. Fred and his ongoing fiance, Jennie. George and his two year old son, Jack, who's mother—George's wife—had died a few days after he'd been born.

Percy and his wife, Penelope, which had no children. Ron and Hermione, who had Married and now had a pair of one year old red headed twins; Kyle and Stanley, and a little fuzzy brown haired seven year old boy named Dwight. And last but not least, Molly and Arthur Weasley, proud parents and grandparents of the Weasley brood.

Thankfully, but not without sadness, almost every Weasley had made it through the war, they had lost Charlie, their eldest son, and Harry, who they considered a son. Both boys had disappeared, although Charlie they knew—without an ounce of doubt—was dead.

This Sunday however, they would not be meeting. Arthur was away on business and along with him Ron, who worked for his father at the Ministry of Magic. Bill and Fleur were stuck in France, Fleur's father was extremely ill and she wanted to be with him if the worst happened.

Alan would not be able to make it either, due to the amount of work he had to catch up on, due mostly to the fact that he'd been promoted to head of the department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

Alan had made good use of his charms, connections to make it to head at such a young age. Thirty two was considered too young for the post he held, and many had had an uproar about the whole situation, given the fact that Seniority was usually taken into consideration when it came to high positions. The youngest person to ever hold his position had been fifty five, but there was no law about age. Although Being the Minister was completely different. The rules stated that you couldn't be younger than forty-five to hold that post. But nobody under the age of sixty had ever been made Minister of Magic, not for centuries at least. Ginny was sure Alan's eye was on the top position, and she knew without a doubt, he would make it. He would—soon enough—be Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and then Minister himself.


	3. Chapter 3: He's Not Good For You

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE: HE'S NOT GOOD FOR YOU**

Ginny and Alan had finished breakfast, and were now both in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. Alan had finished drying his mouth, and was walking to the door but stopped, hesitating. And without looking back, he spoke calmly.

"He's not good for you. If you stay with him you'll lose more than you wagered. You won't lose me, you know I'll always be here. We both know what this marriage is about, but he… he'll ruin your life," Alan said, not turning to look at her once.

Of course he knew, how could he not. Seven years married to the man and she'd been too stupid to realize he'd known her so well. After all, she'd known about the _friends_ he'd had over the years, of course he knew about hers. More so since for her I'd been only one man who she had held the affair with for the past eight years, seven of which she had been married to Alan.

"You…you know?" she said, frozen, afraid that he would turn around. Afraid of what she would see on his face, afraid of what he would do. He had never acted out violently towards her-or anyone else-before, not even when he'd been enraged. Not that he had every become enraged, not in front of her at least. But this was different, he knew about her affair.

"He's Charlie's father, isn't he?" he asked, she could almost hear him smile sadly. Ginny didn't answered.

"When?" she asked. She was sure he had understood the answer. Since when had he know about her and Daniel?

"Since our wedding day," he answered.

Their wedding day. From the very beginning. Always.

She closed her eyes and made a painful sound into her hands as a memory came flashing into her head, their wedding day.

ooooo

 _They had just gotten married, and the reception was in full swing. People were dancing, laughing, eating. She was sitting next to her mother watching Hermione dance with Alan. She'd glanced away from them without thinking about it when she'd seen him. The shock had made her close her eyes tight and double back, because she'd thought she seen him. But it hadn't been her imagination. Sure enough there he was, across the garden, standing by a tree to the far end._

" _Ginny?" her mother called out as Ginny stood up and started to walk away._

" _Loo," she said simply, flashing what she hoped was a convincing smile before walking away._

" _Hi," he said, his face serious._

" _I told you… how dare you come here?" she said as she pulled him away from everyone's view around the front of the house._

" _You look beautiful…."_

"What the hell are you doing here? _" she interrupted him._

 _"I came to see you," he said, a slight, sheepish smile._

 _"You're here to see? Jesus, Daniel. We're done, I told you, I told you not to come around. How dare you, specially today of all days. I just got married to Alan, my family is here, goddammit, Daniel, what were you thinking coming here today?" she said angrily._

" _This could have been our day, Ginny," he said as an answer, and before she had time to answer or react, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. She wanted to pull away, to hit him with closed fists, tell him they were over for good, that she never wanted to see him again, but she couldn't help herself and she responded to the kiss._

" _Ginny?" someone called. Startled, she pulled away from Daniel as Alan came around the garden wall._

 _She turned to Daniel. "Leave," she demanded, but he didn't back away, he simply stared at her."We'll talk later," she whispered low enough so only he could hear._

 _"Tonight," he demanded, standing his place._

 _"Daniel, please," she pleaded, turning as Alan came around the side of the house, but Daniel didn't budge. "Fine, tonight," she said, giving in to him, "now go, please," she said, acceding. Happy with her answer, he nodded and walked away before Alan got to them._

" _Who was that?" Alan asked as he watched the man walk out into the driveway towards the front gate of the house._

" _Chap from work, stop by to congratulate us," she said turning around to smile at Alan._

" _Couldn't he stay?" Alan asked._

" _Not sure really, he's a weird sort of fellow. Forget about him, lets go back to the party, as I remember you owe me one more dance," she said taking his arm._

" _I do," he said with a smile leading her away back to the back garden._

ooooo

"Alan," she said, taking slow, tentative steps towards him, but before she'd reached him, he was out the door, and gone.

She put her hand to her mouth and backed up until she was against the wall. She slid down to the floor and put her head down on her knees. Alan had been loving, no, he'd been _in love_ with her when she met him. He had smiled often, and made jokes. He had kissed her lovingly, and held her when she cried.

The day he had asked her to marry him, he had gone to the Burrow late that night, and recited-loudly-a poem Ginny had once told him she love. Then, smiling up at her, he had added, "…and I won't be complete unless you marry me. Marry me, Ginny Weasley, by God, marry me!" By that time everyone who was in the Burrow, was peering through their windows at him. Ginny was struck silent, extremely amused by Alan, who after reciting his poem, had twirled to land on one knee. Mrs. Weasley had her hands to her mouth, and Mr. Weasley was smiling approvingly at the young man.

But then, just after she married him, he had changed. He was still good to her, but that that look of love he'd had for her, seemed to have gone from his eyes. She had been okay with that. She'd simply assumed he had acted the way he did, to get her to accept. Now however, she knew why he'd changed. He had loved her, he had loved her so much, that when he found out about Daniel, his heart had shattered, but still, he had kept his word married her, and stayed with her, even knowing she was unfaithful the whole time.

She had to do it, she had to end it with Daniel. She couldn't go on with it. Alan was right; he wasn't good for her. She knew Alan would never love her again, at least not in the way he had when they'd met. That she knew, but she could at least give him his dignity back. She could try and make him happy, and maybe with some time, she could give him what he most desired, a child that was his own blood.

She wiped the tears from her face, and determined she stood up, looked at herself in the mirror and told herself she was strong before walking out of the bathroom. She would do it, she would never see Daniel again, she would never be guilted back into his arms.


	4. Chapter 4: Goodbye

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation, including the poem in this chapter._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR: GOODBYE**

"I'm sorry" She had to do it she had to tell him.

"Don't… please don't say it," he cried, thinking, knowing what she was about to sa _y "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'll never love you—" she said it._

"Why did you have to go and say that? Why would you do this to me?" His heart broke; he fell to his knees, and held onto her.

"Because, because it's true. I'm sorry," she said truly and sadly, and those words were the last she said to him.

Incomplete, that's how he felt now, as incomplete as she did.

ooooo

 _In the summer the air blew._

 _How warm it felt upon my skin._

 _How sweet it spoke to me._

 _But still, how sad I was, how incomplete._

 _In the winter the air was cold,_

 _I shiver as I walked against the icy snow,_

 _How deeply it whispered to me about its past love._

 _I told him, how sad I was, how incomplete._

 _The nights have been empty of light,_

 _And the days, they have too much,_

 _The winter is too cold,_

 _And the summer too hot._

 _And every moment of this year,_

 _and the year that follows,_

 _And the two, five, twenty after that,_

 _I will feel the same._

 _And I'll say, I'll confess;_

 _How sad I was, how incomplete._

He let the yellowing sheet of parchment fall out of his hands, as a sob erupted from his trembling lips. That poem reminded him of her, she loved that poem. He had written it for her years before, for her sad eyes.

"Sad eyes." That's what Daniel had called Ginny the day he'd met her. The first time he'd seen those sad brown eyes, ones he would never see again.


	5. Chapter 5: Tormented

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE: TORMENTED**

 **~ FIVE YEARS LATER ~**

 _Ginny;_

 _It wasn't fair; I loved you, and look what you did to me. You left me for him. Him, who you don't even love. Him, who will never love you, not the way I do. You could have married me and been happy. You could have left him. We could have been happy. It could have been you, Charlie, and me, and he would have never found us. But you chose him. You chose the man you don't love. More so, you chose a memory over me, the only true thing you've had in years. I hope he never comes back Ginny Summers. I hope you're as miserable as I am, that you live with the knowledge that this is entirely your fault._

 _-Daniel._

ooooo

Ginny had woke up screaming again, next to her Alan had woken startled and started to calm her down. "It was just a dream, just a bad dream," he was holding her now, holding her tightly, while she cried.

That had not been the first time it had happened. It had been an almost ongoing thing for the first year after it had happened. The past five years had not been easy for Ginny, or her family, and now the dreams had started to come back again. Ginny would wake up crying, and Alan would calm her down, he would hold her until she was back asleep. The next morning, she didn't seem to remember a thing. She might have not remembered waking up crying, or that she had been dreaming about him, but she would never forget the letter he left her, she would never forget the day those two men came knocking at her door.

ooooo

 _"I'll die," he had screamed when she told him she would never come back. Still, with the threat and all, she had walked out of his house. He had fallen to his knees pleading her not to leave him, crying, ugly, hard breaking sobs. "I'll die, Ginny," he continued to scream as she disapparated in front of his house._

 _She'd walked away with the fullest of intentions of never returning, and she'd done it, ignoring his owls, ignoring herself. Then a week later, aurors had come knocking at her front door, politely asking to be let in. Once inside, Ginny had offered them a seat, and she had sat across from them._

 _"My name is Jester Dougan," the older of the aurors had introduced himself, "and this is my partner, Henry Mitchin," he'd added, pointing to the younger man who'd extended his hand to meet Ginny's._

 _"How can I help you today gentlemen?" Ginny asked._

 _"We just have a few questions for you," Dougan said._

 _"Of course,"_

 _"First let me ask. Do you know a man by the name of Daniel Engal?" Dougan asked bluntly._

 _"Yes," she answered quite truthfully. She knew it, she knew it before they said anything. This was about Daniel, it could only be about Daniel. She'd ignored his please, she'd ignored his threats, and now they were here._

 _Dougan made a file appear in front of him, he pulled it from mid air and put it down on his knees. He wrote down something on it before looking back up at Ginny._

 _"Would you tell us when was the last time you saw Mr. Engal?" Dougan asked._

 _"A little over a week ago?" Ginny answered again with the truth._

 _She could lie, but what did it matter. They already knew all the answers to all the questions they were asking her, there was no point in keeping anything from them._

 _"And this was where?" Dougan asked, writing a note on his file._

 _"He has a house in Morrison." The room was getting smaller. The air was getting stiff and hard to breath in. "Is he-?" she said, trying to ask the question._

 _"Ma'am?" it was Mitchin who spoke this time, rising halfway from his chair, a worried look on his face._

 _"Were is he?" Ginny asked. She choked on the question. She didn't want to hear the answer even though she already knew what they would say._

 _"I'm afraid Mr. Engal has passed away," Dougan answered plainly. There was no regret, no pity to his words. Daniel, Ginny, neither of them mattered to the older auror. He was simply there to do his job, not to feel bad for another dead man, another heartbroken woman._

 _"NO… that's… why? I need…I need to... God, I need air." She couldn't speak, she couldn't breath. She stood up. She needed air. She was walking. She was walking to—she didn't know where she was walking to._

 _"Ma'am, are you aright? Ma'am?" Mitchin was now on his feet, "Mrs Summers!" he called out suddenly rushing forward, arms outstretched. Everything had gone black, her legs giving out under her. As she collapsed, she felt two strong arms catch her before she'd lost herself to the darkness._

 _She had woken up to find the aurors were still there. And when she saw them, she had started crying._

 _"Do you need us to call anyone, Mrs. Summers?" This time, Mitchin was doing the speaking; he was obviously more sympathetic than the older man, who looked plainly at Ginny._

 _"No," she said finally, breathing deeply, and cleaning the tears with the back of her palm. "What happened, to Daniel?" she finally asked._

 _"His employer, Mr. Rozen, was concerned for him, due to his absence from work. He went to his home and found him. It seems Mr. Engal took his own life," he answered._

 _She didn't know why she had even asked, as if she didn't already know. She had known up to a certain point, the second she walked out of his house and decided not to return. He had told her, but she didn't listen. He had told her he would die if she left him. How could she have? All she had to do was be with him, with him who loved her so, and he would still be alive. But she had left him, she had let her conscience take over and he had died for it._

 _"He left this," Dougan continued, handing her a folded piece of parchment. "That's how we knew to find you," he finished, as Ginny took hold of the parchment. She opened it and read it. When she finished, it seemed as if she had forgotten the two men were there. She didn't look at them, she didn't acknowledge them as she sat there, looking into nothing, clutching the letter._

 _"I'm sorry we have to ask, but were you and Mr. Engal… involved?" Mitchin asked. Ginny slowly, but surely nodded her head, and looked back down at the letter._

 _—I hope you're as miserable as I am. That you live with the knowledge that this is all your fault—_

 _Those would be the last words he would say to her. He was right, she was miserable. But she had been so for years—since before she ever laid eyes on him, before she kissed him, before she'd allowed him into her bed. All he had done was add more layers to her misery, more upon the hundreds she now carried._

ooooo

"Has she been contacting you again?" Alan asked looking at Ginny over the Daily Prophet he'd been attempting to read. Ginny was sitting across from him, eating breakfast, well more like staring at her breakfast. He'd waited until Charlie had excused himself from the table to ask, but she'd noticed the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his eyes hadn't moved as he stared at the paper even though he'd supposedly been reading it.

"No, not since last time," she said lying. She glanced up at him, and immediately she'd seen he knew it been a lie. "I'm alright, Alan, really. Go to work I'll be fine."

"I know you, you think I don't, but I do. You're not fine, Ginny. You're trying to get over it, then that girl comes along. I'm going to have a talk with someone from Magical law enforcement, maybe they can do something about her. Maybe some time in Azkaban will make her think twice about harassing anyone in the future, encouraging the press to gossip about us," he said.

He always called it gossip. Yes it was gossip she supposed, but it was also mostly true. Ginny had never seen Alan angrier than when he found out about the letter Daniel had left. It had been worse because he'd found out, not from Ginny who had read the letter right after Daniel had died, but by reading about it in the Daily Prophet. Somehow, Daniel's cousin had gotten his hands on a copy of the letter, and that had been the beginning of it all.

Right after Daniel had died, nothing had happened, nothing public at least, but once the girl had been old enough to leave school—just a year before—hell had been set lose upon the Summers and Weasley families. The girl had left her home in America, traveled to England, and imminently stated her inquisition on Ginny. She'd started with the letter to the Daily Prophet, making sure everyone knew that Ginny Summers had had an affair with her cousin, and that it had been, one hundred percent, absolutely her fault he was dead. That hadn't been all however, the girl had harassed her, followed her, approached her in public places, gone to her house when Alan was gone.

He was angry, and he had a right to be, but all Ginny wanted was to forget about it all. Alan, however, wasn't the type to let it go. She'd learned that about him in recent years. He was trying, he really was. He had forgiven her, he had kept their family together, and for that she would always be grateful, but she needed him to let it go. She needed for him to let her deal with it in her own way. She needed that if he wanted what they were trying to build to work.

"Don't, Alan, she's just grieving," Ginny said, forcing herself to eat so Alan would calm down. Her not eating was what usually started these arguments in the morning. Most of which ended with Alan cursing the very day Daniel was born, and swearing to put his cousin away for good. He didn't understand that all Ginny wanted was to forget.

ooooo

 _But she couldn't forget, she recalled every single word, every single detail. She would not allowed herself to forget, this was her punishment, her cross to bear, to never forget even though she wanted nothing more than to._

 _"May we ask how long you both knew each other?" the older Auror was now asking. The fact that she'd passed out didn't seem to have interrupted his interrogation, or even changed his demeanor towards her._

 _"About eight years," she said again, plainly._

 _Almost eight years, he had been to Ginny like a bottle of firewhiskey. He had allowed her to forget, if just for a moment. He had made it easier for her to lie to herself about the empty life she had since Harry had left. How she had foolishly not been able to forget him, and how her heart, without her consent, still loved the man who had abandoned her so long ago._

 _"Do you know of any family he has that we could contact? So far all we have as a connection to him are Mr. Rozen, and you, Ma'am. We wouldn't have come to you, except the old man didn't know anything about Engal's life, except that he had a girlfriend. Forgive us, but with the letter, we thought that meant you."_

 _"His parents passed away a couple of years ago," Ginny told them. "He has a brother, David. I saw him only once, at their mother's funeral a few years back, but I don't know what's become of him. There's an an uncle, Lester, and a young cousin, Lucy—Lucille. They live in the States._

 _"He writes to them, the letters are in his study, cabinet to the left, bottom drawer," she told them as the tears worked their way down her face. "He loved the girl dearly—she'll be heartbroken," she added, remembering the way Daniel's had lit up when speaking of his baby cousin, Lucy._

 _Ginny had never met Lester, not truly. Just like David, his brother, she had glanced a look at him at his mother's funeral, but that was all._

 _Mitchin had convinced Ginny to call on someone, just to make sure she was not alone when they left. Mitchin felt bad for her, unlike Dougan, but it didn't matter, not really. What did she care if the older man thought her a whore. Daniel was dead, and it was all on her. She'd abandoned him, she'd broken his heart and then left him to die of a broken heart._

 _Soon after calling, Molly arrived. Ginny, stumbling on her own words—with some help from Mitchin—told her mother what had happened. After that, both men left, Dougan told Ginny that they would be in contact if anything else was needed and walked out. Mitchin, straggling behind, had given Ginny a sad, friendly smile, before following his partner out the door. He hand't really known what else to do after having been the bearer of the news that had caused her to be left in such a state. Dougan didn't seem to suffer from such guilt, and had walked out without a second thought for her, adding to the younger man's guilt._

 _"Oh…Darling, come here," Molly had cried with open arms once the men were gone. Ginny had rushed into her mother's arms, and Molly had embraced her tightly._

 _"H-he told me, he said it m-mum—he said without me he'd d-die," Ginny stuttered._

 _"Don't think on that, don't you think on that. That poor boy was sick. What he did was his own doing, not yours."_

 _"Mum, but I-"_

 _"It was not your fault, Ginny. It was not up to you to save him, especially when he didn't want help."_

 _Ginny cried into her mother's shoulder as both women sat down. They sat there, a mother holding her daughter, as if no time had passed since she'd been a small girl._

ooooo

"I've lost people too, Ginny," Alan was saying, "what that girl is doing, that's not grieving. Five years is enough to get over it. You tried to do the right thing for us, for our family, the decent thing. That family is not right. Not to mention that article," he said huffing, folding, and slamming down the news paper, finally giving up on the pretense that he'd been doing more than just holding it. "Bringing our son into this."

The article Alan spoke of was another sore topic for them, and another thing she didn't want to bring up. It had happened some months before, and it had been the one that had broken the camel's back. The article had announced that Charlie was not Alan's son. It had done so by providing photos of Charlie and Daniel. Comparing them to each other.

After that article had come out, Alan—who was now Senior Undersecretary to the Minister—had gone straight to the Minister himself. That had put a stop to all the articles that gossiped of the Summers, or even Weasley families, and Ginny had not heard from Lucille anymore, not until the day before.

Lucille had walked up to Ginny in Diagon Alley while she shopped with Charlie, who had just come home for the summer holiday from Hogwarts. The young woman had forcefully grabbed her by the arm, and whispered in her ear.

"Just because of who your husband is, it doesn't mean I won't find another way. You'll pay for what you did to Danny," she'd said before walking away and disappearing into the crowd. Ginny had stood frozen until her son had pulled at her arm.

"Who was that, mum?" the thirteen year old had asked curiously.

"No one you need to worry about. Let's not tell your father about this, alright, Dear?" she said smiling at her son. He nodded in understanding, and they continued their walk down Diagon Alley.

Even though Alan had used his position in the Ministry to stop a lot of the gossip, Ginny would still catch people whispering when she passed by, and when she acknowledge them, they would just wave politely and go on their way.

"Please, Alan, just let it be. I swear I'm fine," Ginny said once more.

"No, I'm sorry, but no. This is our family we're talking about," Alan said, standing up, almost knocking down his chair.

"Please," Ginny begged.

"Help me understand, Ginny, because I don't. Do you like the humiliation? Do you not care what people say of us? Do you enjoy making me a laughing stock at the ministry, with our acquaintances, our friends?"

"This is what it truly comes down to, isn't it? how this makes you look," Ginny said, raising her voice, standing up, her hands in fists.

"You know that's not true," Alan answered.

"You know what, do what you always do, fix it. You go ahead and clean the muck I've covered our family in. Put the girl in jail, see if it helps make us any less miserable," she said, but before he could get a word in, she'd walked away, leaving him standing alone.


	6. Chapter 6: Fourteen Years

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _*If you already read chapter five, I had accidentally published an old version. As of 1/09/2016 it has been fixed. It follows the same events, except that the order of events is different, and a conversation between Ginny and Alan is included that you might want to read._

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX: FOURTEEN YEARS**

She was sitting alone in a corner booth of Guffrey's, a pub in Diagon Alley. Her argument of that morning with Alan had spilled into the afternoon. Then, when she couldn't take her husband's words any longer, she'd left.

She'd simply walked out like she had done so many times before. Alan had rushed after her, calling her name, trying to catch her, pleading with her to stay, to talk. But she'd ignored his pleas, and disapparated in the front of their house before he'd been able to catch up to her.

"Anything else ma'am?" asked the barman.

"Another glass of this," she said pointing at the empty glass on the table.

She had promised herself that she wouldn't drink anymore, and she had not done so for months. But today, she had found herself longing to forget, and this was the best idea she'd had—besides the one about running face first into a tree and knocking herself out cold.

In a moment, the barkeep was back with a glass full of amber liquid. She passed him a couple bronze coins, and quickly tipped the drink back. He shook his head, and walked away.

"Can I buy you another drink?" someone said, sitting in the booth apposite her.

"Listen, I'm in no mood to—" she started to say as she looked up. She gasped, her mind fogged over, and before she knew it, she was out cold.

ooooo

As she drifted in and out of consciousness, the world around her echoed in voices. Voices that spoke nearby, but never close enough for her to grasp on to. She was being carried in strong arms, she was being lowered gingerly on a soft surface. Someone was talking to her softly. She felt the touch of warm lips on her forehead, the caress of a calloused hand on her cheek.

"I thought of you, of the harm I did to you," a voice spoke to her. She opened her eyes, the blurry shape of someone loomed over her. She blinked, trying to see who it was. She wasn't scared because somehow she knew—she wasn't sure how—but she knew she was safe. "I'm sorry," she heard before she closed her eyes once more and faded back into sleep.

ooooo

She woke up in a dark room. The shades were drawn but light filtering through the gaps between the blinds. It was day outside. She sat up quickly, but her head was spinning and the nausea brought her back down on the pillow. Her mind was foggy, but she remembered leaving her house, Alan calling after her. She remembered the pub and at least the first five drinks. She also remembered… no it wasn't him, he was dead. Wasn't he? Yes, yes he was.

She looked around, she had no recollection on how she'd gotten there, or where there was. She sighed, rubbing her face, trying to wake her mind up. After a moment, she sat up, carefully this time, taking control of the nausea that surged up as she came to a full sitting position. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes and took steady, deep breaths, trying to convince her head to stop spinning, for the room to stop moving. After a moment, the dizziness having subsided enough that she could open her eyes again without it bringing about the feeling that she was going to throw up, she pushed herself off the bed, standing up on wobbly legs.

The room she was in was small. In the partial dark she saw a dresser with stacks of books neatly pilled on top of it. Next to the books, there were rolls of parchment bundled together, stored between two stacks of books. On the only spot not overtaken by scrolls of parchment or books, there was a framed photo. In the dark she should make out two people in it, what looked like a grown man, a woman, and a child standing between them.

Pushed against the wall, under a window, next to the dresser, there was a trunk, it was open, and it too was overflowing with more books and scrolls. Atop the books, feeling a little out of place, there was an old, word, red quaffle, and there, behind the trunk, against the wall, there was what was obviously a racing broom. She was in a wizard's home, of that she was sure.

She felt around for her wand, it wasn't in her pocket. Worse—she realized—her pockets weren't there anymore. She looked down at herself, she was wearing stripped pajamas, ones that were a few sizes to big for her. What had she gotten herself into?

"Hello?" she called, taking a step forward, listening for an answer.

She waited a moment but no one answered, in fact, there wasn't a sound beyond the door. Was she alone? She called again, "hello," she said a little louder this time, now standing only a couple of feet from the door. She waited again, listening for any sound or movement, but nothing again. She had decided to give up. _Just walk out of the room_ , she told herself. She could simply slip away from whomever's home this was and forget she had ever been there. She took a step forward, reached for the door knob, but stopped. She thought she heard something. She pressed her ear against the door trying to hear better. Sure enough, there were foot steps coming towards the room. She backed into the room, away from the door as it swung open.

"I'm glad you're awake," said—what sounded like a young man. She heard the light switch and a light above her bathed the room in soft light. She blinked a couple of times, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. In the doorway stood a young man, he was no older than fifteen or sixteen. He was barefoot, wearing jeans, and a gray t-shirt with a blue hoodie over it. He was holding a tray of food in his hands.

"I got you something to eat," he said, walking into the room, and carefully placing the tray at the edge of the bed and stepping back, as if finding her there didn't faze him in any way.

She looked down, the tray had a glass of juice and two slices of toast. It was hangover food if she'd ever seen any. She looked back up at the boy. Now he was standing in the middle of the room, politely giving her time to get her bearings, she assumed. She tried to place him, but she didn't recognize him. He wasn't one of her son's or nephew's friends, or the son of a friend or co-worker. In fact, she didn't recognize him as anyone she'd ever seen or met before. He had black wavy hair, combed neatly to the side. He had large, blue-green eyes that sparkled, and he was tall, but narrow, with big hands. He seemed to smile easily from the looks of it, a tight lipped smile that made him look a little goofy.

"You... you brought me here from the pub?" she asked. He looked too young, but he didn't seem incapable of carrying someone as small as her. He also might be older than he seemed. Nineteen maybe, if she was forced to say.

The boy laughed, "No, not me. Drinking age here is still eighteen. My dad brought you last night, you were sick so he let you take his room."

"Oh," was all she said. Well, that made more sense, and was a relief. His father had given her his room, which meant that the man had slept somewhere else.

"So, yeah," the boy said after a moment of silence. "Dad will be back soon," he said. Ginny didn't speak.

"Well." He cleared his throat, "I guess I'll leave you. You _should_ drink the juice though, it's for the head pain," he told her, and when she didn't answer, he started to walk away.

"Wait," she called out, the boy stopped and turned to look at her, "where's my wand?" she asked.

"Yes, of course, sorry," he said.

He walked to the dresser and opened a drawer. He dug around, searching. After a moment he'd found what he'd been looking for. He closed the drawer, and turned around to face her, holding her wand in his left hand. "Here," he said, stretching his hand to give it to her. She took it. "I'm Tomas by the way," the boy said seeming to have suddenly realize he hadn't introduced himself, not that she'd noticed until she'd heard his name.

"Ginny," she answered, for no other reason than she didn't want to be rude to the boy. Not after having been brought passed-out drunk into his home, in the middle of the night.

"Nice to meet you, Ginny," Tomas said, nodding with a smile and walking away without expecting any extra pleasantries from her.

She sat down on the bed with her wand in hand, rubbing her temples. Her head was about to explode. She glanced at the tray with the juice and toast. Usually drinking what a stranger gave you was an obvious no-no, but at this point what harm can it do? She reached for the tray, sliding it closer to her. She drank the juice, which turned out to be pumpkin juice. The second she drank it, the pain faded, her eyes focused, and the room stopped spinning.

She sat at the edge of the bed, relishing the clear head. How good it was to feel halfway normal again, even if just in body. After another moment, she decided it was time to go. She looked around, and found her clothes on top of the night side table. Quickly she got out of the borrowed pajamas and got into her own clothes. She needed to leave, who ever the boy's father was, she didn't need to wait around for him. She didn't want to wait around for him.

She was about to walk out of the room, go home and try forget about that night, when she heard a door opening and shutting. The young man was speaking to whom she assumed was his father. She put her ear to the door, to try and catch what they were saying.

"Is she awake?" the man asked.

"Yeah, I took her what you made. Oh, and look, you left this on the dresser. I don't think she noticed," the boy answered.

There was a moment of silence. Ginny looked around the room confused. What had the boy hidden from her? It took her a moment, but she saw it, or rather she didn't see it. The picture frame that had been on the dresser was gone. Now his digging around the drawer for her wand, made sense.

Before she had time to think any further on how strange this was all turning out to be, the door opened. She looked up, and there he was inside the room looking at her. It was almost as if he'd never left, as if the years since she'd last seen him hadn't been real. He had barely changed. He still had the jet black hair, the green eyes behind round glasses, that boyish look he'd had, and hadn't seemed to have lost as he grew into a man. She looked up, and there, as if she had seen it just yesterday, there was the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

Harry.

The effects of the potions wore off as quickly as they had taken effect. She felt lightheaded and sick again. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed onto the floor, barely catching herself on the edge of the bed so as to not his her head.

"Ginny." Harry ran to her, but before he could do anything to help, she raised her hands, warding him off.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled wildly.

"I just want to—"

"Don't," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He took a few steps back, and dropped himself into a sitting position on the floor opposite her. She didn't move, she didn't speak, so he just sat there in silence, looking at her.

ooooo

"It's been almost an hour," the boy, Tomas, was saying. "Look at her, she hasn't moved. Maybe you should be doing something, speaking to her might be a start." Harry was standing near the door frame, Ginny still in her corner, and the young man was standing on the other side of the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he spoke to Harry in whispers.

"Its okay Tomas, she'll be fine. It's the shock. I've been gone for quite a while. I should have found a more… delicate way to show myself to her."

"Maybe you could call someone she'll speak to," Tomas advised. He'd been surveying Ginny carefully for a while now, trying to see in her what he had heard his dad talk about for so many years. She was pretty—angry at the moment—but pretty.

"Who would I call?" Harry said. "No one knows I'm back. No one besides her at least," he said, nodding his head towards Ginny.

Tomas narrowed his eyebrows, and uncrossed his arms. He walked into the room and knelt a few feet from were Ginny sat on the floor.

"Hi there, Ginny? I'm Tomas Potter, we met earlier. I'm Harry's son. How are you?" the boy said with a smile.

She didn't acknowledge him. "No? Nothing then." He sighed and stood up, taking a couple of steps back. Harry had his face in his hand, and was shaking.

"Maybe shocking her full of new information is not such a good thing right now," Harry said, low enough so only Tomas could hear.

"Oh, right." Tomas crouched back down to Ginny's level. "If it helps, I'm adopted," he added, saying every word slowly and carefully, as if a wrong move might make her fall further into pieces.

"Oh loads better," Harry said. "Any more great ideas? I thought you were supposed to be a genius," Harry whispered in between gritted teeth when Tomas was again standing by his side.

"Thought it could have worked," Tomas said scratching at the back of his head.

"Here," Harry said after a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few muggle notes."Why don't you go buy us something to eat."

"Are you sure?" Tomas said taking the money. "Maybe I should stay, in case you need me if something happens."

"We'll be fine," Harry reassured him. Tomas looked down at Ginny and then back at Harry.

"Alright," the boy said, nodding and turning away from the room. Harry watched Tomas' retreating figure for a moment, and then turned back into the room, racking a hand through his hair. Not too long after that, the front door opened and closed as Tomas left.

Harry sighed, and lowered himself to the floor, resting his arms on his knees. Eventually, tired, he closed his eyes, and was drifting into sleep when he heard her speak.

The whisper had prompted Harry out of his drowsy state. It had been so low that Harry wasn't sure if he had heard her speak at all, but as he looked up he saw that she was looking at him. It wasn't a lost, bewildered look. It was an intent, calculating one.

"Ginny?" he said her name moving closer.

"Fourteen years, Harry," she said, this time loud enough for him to catch every word.

"I know how long it's been," he said with a sadness that would have been hard to hear, if she hadn't been so lost in her own overwhelming grief. "I've counted every single day," he added. He was closer to her now, he'd inched his way forward, slowly, but he didn't dare touch her lest she lash back out at him. If she went inside herself again. If he lost her to her own mind like he had for hours. Where would that leave them then? Nowhere. No, he would not be left with the empty shell he'd spend the couple of hours watching over, not again.

She didn't say anything else. She just sat there, but tears had started to fall, and then she was laughing almost crazed, shaking her head in disbelieve. "Ginny… are you alright?"

"Alright? I-I." Ginny was laughing harder.

"Gin-" He reached a hand to touch her, try and comfort her.

"No," she said, pulling away, so low that all Harry heard was a whisper of the word.

"Ginny, please," he pleaded, but she ignored him. What ever he had to say to her, it didn't matter, not after fourteen years. What ever, he, Harry, wanted to explain, it would fall on deaf ears. She was angry, boiling over, enraged. How dare he, how dare he.

"No, why would I be alright Harry?" she said, her voice rising. "What could possibly make you think I'm alright?!" she screamed standing up, her eyes fierce, her face red, her hands in tight, white-knuckled fists. "Fourteen years, fourteen fucking years!" she yelled, "I was alone Harry! For every day you counted, I was alone and miserable!" she screamed.

Startled by her sudden outburst, Harry had stumbling back, falling on his hands, and then scrambling up to his feet, he stepped back away from her, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted.

An angry whimper escaped Ginny's lips. She closed her eyes tight, and she took a deep breath, taking a step back. She was losing energy, suddenly drained of all the adrenaline that had catapulted her into her rage. But she wasn't done with him, far from it.

She opened her eyes and looked at him with a mixture of sadness and anger. "In what way is that alright?" she asked him, no longer screaming. "Please, don't come to me with 'I counted every day'," she told him with as steady of a voice as she could muster. "You, you… ah," she moaned turning around to face the wall. He heard her heave and sniffle. He saw her hand go up to her face and wipe at it. After a few moments, she turned around, her face was furious, but there were no signs of tears, no signs of any kind of weakness.

"What you felt, it could never compare to how you left me, Harry Potter," she said to him.

Harry stood there looking at her. She had shouted about her loneliness. Had shouted about being left. Yes, he had left, but he remembered receiving the news about her marriage to Summers, and about their happy family, their son. He remembered reading about the scandal with Engal in the papers. He remembered how it hurt him to see what she had lowered herself to.

He looked down, away from her as he spoke. "You had your husband, and a son." He looked up. "Obviously not too alone. How long after I left, Ginny? Maybe a couple of months before you replaced me so easily?" he said a little too loud before catching himself and regaining his posture somewhat. "I was alone. Yet you had someone to love…. I know it's my fault…. but I was alone, you had someone. All I could do was remember you, Ginny," he said letting a tear fall.

Ginny didn't say anything. She just looked at him, looked at him as he looked at her. Neither of them knew what to say. Harry had left her, even after promising to always be by her side. And Ginny had found herself a husband and had had a son with him too soon after. By the boy's age, Harry thought, it seemed almost immediately. Neither of them had kept their promises to each other, they had both failed the other one.

"Yes," she said to herself in a low whisper. "Maybe I did, but I didn't have you," she finally said.

"Ginny—I," he said, exhausted. He didn't have an answer for her, for his betrayal, and she didn't seem to have an answer for having given up on him so soon after he'd gone.

Yes, they both had failed each other, but what now? Ginny it seemed, had given up on fighting, on her anger, it had all drained out of her and with a cry she threw herself at him, making them both tumble to the floor.

She put her arms around him and her head to his chest. She started to cry again, this time with more strength, more emotion than she could remember ever crying. There was no anger any longer, this was pure unadulterated sadness, and also, Harry heard, relief. Not knowing what else to do, Harry held on to her as tightly as he could, allowing his own tears to flow freely.

ooooo

"I saw you in the pub, I recognized you immediately. You haven't changed, not a bit since you were eighteen, just as beautiful as that day. I couldn't help myself," Harry whispered to her. "I had told myself that even if I returned, I couldn't go looking for you. I told myself you where no longer mine, that I had lost you. But there you were, and there I was, and I couldn't help myself. I saw you and again it was like no time had passed at all." He kisses her face softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Love."

Ginny had fallen asleep, Harry had picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. He was now laying with her, talking to her, caressing her hair. Outside the sun had started to set, and still there they laid, Harry with his arms around her as she slept.

Ginny had woken, and found herself unexpectedly relaxed, comfortable, and for a brief moment, not realizing what had happened, completely happy and at peace. She turned and saw Harry laying next her, his eyes were closed, his sleep calm. She turned away from him and allowed herself another small moment of peace.

"I have to go," she said after a while. She wanted to stay there, with him holding her, but she knew she couldn't. She had to go home. People counted on her. Her family waited for her, her son waited for her.

"What?" he said opening his eyes, her words bringing him out of the peaceful slumber he's been enjoying as he'd held her in his arms.

"I have to go home," she repeated. "I've been gone since last night, they'll be worried."

"But," Harry started. Ginny was now sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked down at him, and interrupted him before he could finish voicing his objections.

"I can't stay here, Harry. I have responsibilities, a family, a home. You know I can't stay," she said standing up. She didn't look back at him as she spoke, but he felt the shifting of the bed as he sat up. "I just—I just need to think about things," she said facing away from him. "I need to sort everything out." She stopped, then continued. "I'm just asking you to let me do this on my own. Please." She didn't say anything for a moment. She was collecting her thoughts, and he stayed quiet, allowing her her moment. He simply sat there, watching her.

"I'll come back. We'll talk," she said after a moment. "I promise," she added, and then walked way without looking back at him. Seeing him, seeing his green, wide eyes, his dark hair. Seeing any part of him would have made it impossible for her to leave. So she just walked away, and he let her.

"I'll wait," Harry said once she was gone. He fell back onto the bed, and closed his eyes, his hands pressing down on his face.

After a few moments he heard the front door open and then close. He laid back down on the bed in silence, trying not to let himself be overwhelmed. She'd be back, she had promised. But hadn't be promised her something a long time ago? Hadn't he broken that promise to her. Even if she'd meant it when she said it, she could decided after having time to think about it, that he didn't deserve to have promises made to him and kept. No. He knew her, she'd always been a better person than he had.

He heard him before his saw him, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor outside his bedroom door. Harry lowered his hands from his eyes, and leaned up on his elbows to look at Tomas. The young man was standing in the entrance to Harry's room, his face buried in a book.

He'd come home an hour earlier with sandwiches for everyone, but both Harry and Ginny had been deep in sleep. Instead of bothering them, he took his sandwich into his room to eat as he read a new book he'd picked up the day before.

"You think she'll come back?" Tomas asked, his book still up to his face.

"She promised," Harry said as an answer.

"Do you believe her?" the boy asked turning a page. Harry didn't know anyone else who could both carry a conversation and read book, except maybe his old friend, Hermione.

"I don't know," Harry said, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"That's you're final answer, then?" Tomas said turning a page.

"That's the only answer I'm afraid. The worst part about it… it's all my fault. I can rant and rave all I want about her finding someone else too soon, but it's entirely my fault. I was the one who left her to begin with," Harry said, looking down at his hands, and then across the room back at the boy. Tomas lowered the book and finally looked at Harry. After a second or two he nodded in understanding.

ooooo

Outside, Ginny had not realized how late it had become. When she had walked out of the building, the full effect of how time had passed, had hit her. The streets were almost empty and dark, and the street lamps were lit. It was probably nine or ten at night. How long had her and Harry slept? Hours by the look of things.

"Damnit. Damnit, Ginny," she said, berating herself, looking up towards what she assumed was Harry's apartment on the third and top floor.

She was in a muggle neighborhood, she realized. It was apparent by the cars parked along the curb, and by the electric street lamps that lined the sidewalks on either side of the road. She could apparate home, she thought. But no, she needed time to thing, time to breath, to relax before she had to deal with what awaited her back at home. She looked down the empty street, and decided. Turning to look up at Harry's window one last time, she turned and started to walk down the street.


	7. Chapter 7: The Prodigal Wife

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PRODIGAL WIFE**

"What were you thinking, Ginevra? This is unacceptable." Molly was standing in front of her, her hands on her hips.

The dangerous look on Molly's face was not unlike the ones Ginny remembered seeing as a child when she'd done something her mother hadn't approve of. Not much had changed since then, because there it was, the look of utter disapproval. The look that said 'I raised you better' 'I expected more from you'.

Usually, that look was enough to unsettled any of the Weasley children, herself included. Her brothers, because they had never grown out of fearing their mother's wrath. Ginny, because her mother's disapproval was not something she had ever been able to bear. Tonight however, she was simply too tired to think about it.

She had gotten home an hour after leaving Harry's. She had taken a walk to clear her head, and then apparated home, thinking she would have to deal with possibly, only Alan. Instead she'd found her mother, and sister-in-law, Hermione, sitting in the living room.

When Molly saw her, the first thing she did was run to her daughter and hug her, then immediately proceeded to tell her off for being gone for over a day.

"Your brothers, your father, and your husband are out looking for you. Hermione and I went to St. Mungo's, even had to go to those muggle hospitals. We thought something horrible had happened. Poor man called us this morning when you didn't come home. Explain yourself, Ginny," Molly demanded

"Oh, mum," Ginny said, closing her eyes, passing a hand through her tired face. "Not right now. Please, just go home—the both of you. I'm alright. You can tell the rest to stop looking. I'm going upstairs to sleep," she told her with a tired sigh.

Then, without offering any explanation, she walked away, up the stairs and disappeared into the second floor landing. Molly was left there, mouth open, hands limp at each side and no longer tight to her hips in indignation. Hermione stood next to her, shocked into silence.

ooooo

Upstairs, Ginny had stood in the hallway for a minute, trying to put herself back together. She took a deep breath, and slowly released it, telling herself she was alright. She'd listened for any signs of anyone leaving or coming into the house, downstairs, but there was nothing. She sighed. She knew her mother well enough to know she was probably refusing to leave until Alan returned. Hermione, of course—the good friend that she was—had most definitely stayed on Ginny's behalf, to run interference with Molly.

Now she sat in Charlie's room, watching him sleep. She watched his chest sink and rise softly, watched the calm of his beautiful face, the serene sleep he was enjoying. He was at peace with the world, a peace which life had yet to take from him as it had done her. She needed that peace tonight. She needed to drive away that overwhelming indignation she had felt after seeing Harry again.

She thought of the boy she'd loved, the boy who'd loved her, the one who'd promised he'd never leave. The one who in another life, hadn't left her.

Now however, all Harry brought was that upsetting feeling that could only be eased by looking at her son. Charlie was the only good thing she had of her own, in the world. The one thing she had created that had escaped ruin. The one and only person who's mere existence kept her from hating, even if that hate was for the man who'd stolen her heart, and with it, the peace she was starving for.

ooooo

"Your mother was worried about you. You could have let us know you were alright."

Alan was sitting at the edge of the bed. Ginny was laying down, slowly breathing in and out. He knew she wasn't sleeping, she knew he knew. Still, she kept quiet.

He'd walked into the room not long after Ginny herself. She'd left Charlie sleeping when she'd heard her husband come home and made her way to their room. She'd just made it into bed and closed her eyes, when she heard his footsteps outside the bedroom door. She wanted to avoid any type of confrontation with him, however small the chance of that happening was.

For the most part, Alan would hardly actually argue with her. If she were to be fair to the man, she did most of the arguing, and when he _did_ argue, it was usually on her behalf.

"Were you—were you with someone else?" She didn't answer. There was a pause, and then a sigh. "I'm trying, Ginny, by God I'm trying, I really am, but you make it impossible. I just thought that after... after _him_ things would change. I thought that maybe you'd be able to look at me, at us, in a different light.

"I'm here until the end, Ginny, but at this point, if you want out of this marriage, I won't do anything to stop you. If you need to be let go, I'll let you go."

She felt the bed shift as Alan stood. She heard the soft thudding of his boots on the hardwood floor as he walked away. There was the sound of the door opening, and then a pause.

"I want to fight for us," he said, "I just hope you haven't given up, not just yet." She pressed her eyes tight. The guilt was eating her inside. The guilt that by now she should be so used to, but wasn't. Maybe she should say something. Maybe she should give him an explanation, he deserved that much, but she didn't make up her mind in time as it seemed that Alan was done waiting for an answer. She heard the door close as he left.

He didn't return to bed that night, and the next morning when Ginny got up, he wasn't home.

ooooo

"Where's dad?"

Ginny was sitting down at the kitchen table. Unable to stomach anything, she'd simply sat there, drinking her tea, while Charlie next to her, ate his breakfast cereal. They'd sat quietly for while, that was until he'd asked the question.

"He left early for work," she answered, smiling at her son.

"Oh." There was a pause. He played with the milk at the bottom of his bowl, frowning. He bit his bottom lip and then spoke again. "Are you both alright? I mean... you know…. together, are you alright?" he asked still looking down at his bowl.

"Why do you ask?" It had taken Ginny a moment to process his words. This had been the first time he'd ever asked anything of the sort.

"I just thought... you know—" he started, and then stopped for a second, seemingly trying to come up with the right words. "Well, I just thought. This is how it usually starts before parents separate," he answered, saying the words quickly, glancing up at his mother, and then back down at his bowl once more.

Ginny looked him, really looked at him. He was thirteen years old now, more than half-way to adulthood. She hadn't expected him not to notice the tension, least of all his father's absence from their house that morning. But coming face-to-face with the realization of his knowing, _that_ had taken her by surprise. She'd been naive—or more likely in denial—about her son's awareness of what was going on between his parents.

"Well of course not. We're fine, Darling," she lied. "Dad had work, last moment stuff. I wouldn't think on it. Anyhow, I was thinking that maybe you and I can spend the day together, go to Diagon Alley. Maybe we can get Morph his birthday gift. How does that sound?" she finished, smiling as genuinely as she could.

She received a bright smile in return. "I have the perfect thing," he said excited, now distracted by the idea of buying his best friend a gift.

"Well then, its a date," Ginny said. He gave her nod of approval, and went back to his breakfast with a smile. For now, he'd left the whole matter of his parents forgotten. She would have time to think of a real explanation, for when the subject came up again.

Besides, Alan most likely _had_ left early for work; actually, Ginny was almost sure of it. The man would never miss a day of work—he was too serious about his job, unlike Ginny who didn't care one way or another about hers. She was the Senior Assistant to the Head of the International Magical Cooperation Department, Janice Klinny.

Her boss had been very supportive of Ginny after the whole Daniel scandal, and had made sure to stop any gossip in the office when the articles had started surfacing in the media. "Come back when you're ready," she'd told her after Ginny had asked for time off. "Take the time you need to get over this, your job will be here when you return."

Klinny was the only reason why Ginny had even returned to work. Her boss had always been very kind to her, like another mother for Ginny. At the moment however, she wasn't working. She was off for work for a couple of weeks, as she was every year at that time, when Charlie was home for the Summer.


	8. Chapter 8: Tomas

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: TOMAS**

A week had passed, and Ginny had not dared to go looking for Harry. Of course what she wanted more than anything was to jump into his arms. She wanted to be with him, as if a decade and a half hadn't passed and he hadn't left. But no, she couldn't do that. She couldn't allow him to break her heart again.

To keep thoughts of Harry away, she'd decided to go back to work early. She'd needed no excuse, her temporary replacement at the office had fallen off a broom during a friendly game, and broken his arm. Ginny—the good assistant that she was—had volunteered to return to work days before she was due back. Her boss had been ecstatic, and she'd been happy to have something to do that didn't involve sitting around the house thinking about Harry, and whether or not she should talk to him again.

ooooo

"Did you get Tweak to file the papers?" Ginny was walking along a hallway in the Ministry, following a step behind her boss, Janice Klinny.

"This morning, Ma'am. I also asked him to look for the eighty-six files. It'll take him a while. They're stored under the old system, but he said he'll have them by Monday morning, the latest."

"Good." They'd both stopped, they were now in front of Klinny's office. "I think we've had enough for today, don't you think?" Klinny said as she walked into her office, Ginny following close behind. "Why don't you get going. I just have a letter to finish up and I'll be out of here myself."

"I can stay if you need me to," Ginny said.

"No, that's alright, but thank you. I'll see you Monday," her boss said, already seated behind her desk, taking a roll from a pile of parchment to the side. She grabbed a quill and dipped it in the crystal inkwell she kept on her desk.

"Alright then. Goodnight, Ms. Klinny."

"Goodnight yourself, Ginny, and get some rest," the older woman smiled, looking up from her letter, quill aloft.

"Will do, Ma'am." Ginny smiled back, and with a nod of goodbye, walked out, closing the office door behind her.

ooooo

"Ginny, Ginny!"

After leaving work, Ginny had decided to pass by Diagon Alley. She needed to pick up a potion for a head-cold Charlie seemed to be developing.

She'd walked out of the apothecary when she heard her name being called. She turned and was shocked to find Harry's son, Tomas, running towards her, a hand out in a wave.

"Hey, wait." He was out of breath as he stopped in front of her, bending over trying to catch his breath. "Wow, you walk fast," he said, bringing himself up straight.

"Sorry about that," she said, eyeing the boy curiously.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, taking one final deep breath.

"Listen, Tomas, right?" The boy nodded. "I don't mean to be rude, but if your dad sent you to ask me to meet him," she started to tell him.

"What?"

"Harry. If he sent you to talk to me on his behalf," Ginny continued.

"Oh, no, he didn't. Dad's not even in the country right now. He had to go to Italy," the boy responded with a smile, one that was oddly familiar to Ginny.

"Italy?"

"Yeah, work stuff… but he'll be back in about two weeks."

"Oh, work, right."

"Yeah. So since Dad didn't send me, are we good?" Tomas asked with a smile.

"Of course, no, of course. I am so sorry about that, that was rude of me," she said, sorry for having been so curt with the boy. Nothing between Harry and her was his fault after all.

"Nah, it's alright, I understand," he answered with a shrug.

"So, what's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing really. I just saw you and thought that maybe you'd want to have a coffee, or a tea with me. I'm only allowed to come to Diagon Alley while Dad's gone—this is the first time he's let me stay on my own when he's away," he said proudly.

"I see."

"Yeah, and well, since I don't really know anyone else here, well I thought you wouldn't mind," he finished a bashful look on his face.

"Oh," she said taken aback. This she hadn't expected, "no, of course I wouldn't mind. I'd be delighted in fact," she answered, finally returning the smile.

"Great," he said with relief, "I found this really nice café down there." He pointed the way he'd come from. "They have this really nice patio where we can sit and talk."

"That does sound good. Lead the way," she said.

Tomas offered his arm. Ginny took hold of it with a smile and allowed him to guide her.

Sneaking a glance at Tomas as they walked, she thought about how she had not, for even a moment, had thought about what Harry had done with his life. After all he had a son, even if he was adopted. There hadn't been any sign of a mother, or any woman for that matter, in their flat. Maybe he was divorced or widowed.

They arrived at the café, and Tomas led her to a nice table on the outside seating area. Ginny had been to that café with Hermione before, they made amazing walnut and honey pastries.

"So what does he do? I mean Harry, in these business trips?" Ginny asked once she'd been served an iced coffee, and Tomas an ice-cold butterbeer. On Ginny's recommendation, they'd both gotten one of the pastries she enjoyed so much.

"Pretty cool things actually. He secures locations—houses, government buildings, and such—with anti-theft and unplotable spells. That sort of thing.

"He also trains security personnel for rich people who want trained goons. People pay good to have their guards trained by The-One-With-The-Wand, Super-Boy, or Might-Mouse, or what ever they're calling him these days."

She laughed, almost spitting out her drink. "What?"

"I've heard funnier," he said. "When people don't know you personally know Harry Potter, they'll tell you a bunch of far fetched stories about him."

She laughed shaking her head, and the boy smiled back with a shrug.

"So he travels a lot for that?"

"Yeah. He prefers going to them. He's somewhat paranoid about being located by someone unwanted. I guess he thinks people would love to get their hands on him, or me. It can get kind of lonely sometimes." He stopped for a second, realizing that he'd let his feelings slip out. A frown had formed on his face, and he scrunched his mouth and then took a swig of his butterbeer just to have something to do, it seemed. Harry used to do that when she knew him. When he didn't want to talk about something, he'd get quiet, and brood over it.

She didn't know what to say to that, she didn't know him well enough to really say anything that would mean something to him. But she could understand feeling lonely. Sure she had her family, her son, but she hadn't been able to shake that feeling of loneliness off, not for a long time. "So he's done well, then?" she said instead, taking a piece of her pastry, and chewing it, giving him time to answer.

"Yeah, he has," he said looking at her, coming out of the little moment of momentary sadness he'd put himself in. "But it's not like it matters to him. Dad always said money isn't everything. He mostly does it because he cares about people's safety. If he cared that much about money, we would be living in a mansion, and not a two bedroom flat in Muggle London. I've been trying to convince him to get a house here in England, you know, make it home once and for all. I told him I'd pay for it, but he won't have it. He said I can't touch my trust until I'm twenty-five." He looked disappointed when he said it, but recovered quickly.

"He never was the sort to get too over himself," Ginny told him. "People always mattered more to him than money."

She remembered how he had rebuilt the Burrow after it had been destroyed during the war. He had made sure it looked exactly the way it had before—minus the bad foundation, and ghouls in the attic. Harry had always just been that kind of guy, and according to Tomas, he still was.

"So, Tomas?" she asked, curious about the boy in front of her. "Don't you go to school? I mean you are what, sixteen?"

"Fifteen actually. I just had my birthday last month," he said "Dad gave me a first edition of In The Reign Of Dark: A History of Dark Magic In the Dark Ages. It's by Wilhem Durptis, he's an incredible author, writes mostly about the Dark Ages. This one is all about the fall and rise of the dark times in…." Ginny was smiling at him, he blinked realizing he'd gone in one of his tangents. "Oh, wow, sorry, I get carried away. I forget not everyone is as interested as I am about these things."

"Oh no, don't worry about it. You just remind me of my best friend—Harry probably told you about her, Hermione Granger, well Weasley now."

"Hermione Granger, the historian? Yeah I know of her. I've read her books. I didn't know Dad knew her. I mean, I know I've mentioned her to him, but he never said anything. Her stuff is fascinating," Tomas said, taking a bite of his cake, completely excited by the idea of Hermione.

Ginny smiled. Hermione's work was written more for the scholarly type, not teenage boys. This teenage boy however, _was_ the scholarly type, just like Hermione herself had been at that age.

"Sure is, but I'm getting out of track here. What about school?" she asked again, curious as to whether or not he'd be going to Hogwarts now that Harry had returned to England.

"I'm home schooled. I get my exams by owl, and have to go to Ukraine's Burgetash Magic Academy every year for my final exams. I just took my OWLs actually, last year. It was tough, but I did alright. I almost got straight O's, if not for bloody Divination. I got an E in that one."

"You took Divination?" she asked, holding in a giggle. Ginny hadn't bothered with Divination in school—In fact, she had all together skipped it by recommendation of her brothers, Harry, but mostly, Hermione.

"Yeah, Dad had warned me against it," he said, echoing her thoughts. "I honestly thought it would be interesting. It turned out to be deadly boring though. The bloke he hired to tutor me was a drag. Dad said he was the most outgoing, and less strange of the lot he looked into. He kept telling me I would die young. After a while he annoyed me so much that I told him I did feel some chest pains, and that my eyesight was blurring." He laughed, Ginny smiled at him.

He told her how the old man had widened his eyes and at the same time squinted, in that strange misty expression that most who teach the subject seem practice for effect. Tomas had imitated, with what seemed like a thespian's expertise, the scratchy melodramatic voice his old teacher had used to give him his condolences. Ginny had been laughing by the end of his story.

They had talked for over an hour, mostly Tomas telling her stories about his life. He'd told him about his mother—because Ginny had asked—about how Harry had known her.

Tomas' mother had been a widow. She'd been older, and sick, dying in fact, when Harry came along. Tomas still remembered her, he said. He remembered how she smelled like cinnamon, and how she had really soft hair. She'd died from her illness some years back, when he was nine, leaving Tomas in Harry's care. That had tugged at Ginny's heart strings. Now she knew where Tomas came from. A sick, older, single mother, who'd taken Harry in and had trusted him with her son's ever ridiculous jealous she might have felt when thinking Harry had been with another woman, quickly faded away.

He also told her about their travels. "…Russia, Italy, Japan, Egypt, America, Mexico, Romania, Turkey, Morocco, Korea, Germany, Argentina, Brazil, Ireland, Norway, Costa Rica, and Ukraine…..well, that's all I can think of at the moment."

Ginny was impressed. So young and having seen so much of the world already. Even though Alan traveled a lot for his work, she never went with him. She didn't want to, but work was the excused she'd always used to not go with him. He'd eventually stopped asking her. As for Tomas, it was now obvious why he needed to be home schooled. Their life style didn't really call for the more typical style of education.

"Which place is your favorite?" she asked him. He stopped, ruminated, for a moment about her question.

"I liked Morocco a lot," he finally said. "You ever been?"

"Can't say I have. I did go to Egypt when I was younger. I've also been to France, Iceland, and America," she told him.

To Egypt she'd gone when her father had won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw, the Summer before her second year at Hogwarts. To France she'd gone for her honeymoon with Alan.

Her trip to Iceland had been work related, and the one to America had been with Hermione, for research on ancient, magical, Native American tribes.

By the time Ginny had said goodbye to the young man, she had agreed to meet him at the cafe the next day after work. She realized that she rather liked him, and that she'd enjoyed his company a lot. He had managed to make her feel _normal,_ at least for the time they's spent together talking. There was a grand curiosity and an excitement in him that was contagious. He had a thirst for knowledge, a need to learn, to discover all the wonderful mysteries of the world that was unseen in most young people his age.

ooooo

"You've been staying out a lot lately."

Alan was sitting across the table from her, eating super. Charlie wasn't home that night, Ginny had allowed him to stay at Tonks' house so he could have a sleepover with her son, his best friend, Morph. She looked at Alan confused, and mildly shocked. Alan hadn't really said much to her, much less questioned her about her whereabouts in the last few weeks.

"It's work," she answered, "there's a lot going on right now at the office." It wasn't a complete lie. There _was_ a lot of work at the office, but work wasn't really the reason she was getting back home late almost every day.

"Right," he answered looking back down at his dinner. He lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth, but he stopped midway. There was a look of distaste on his face, like he couldn't stomach the food, or being there. He shook his head, and lowered the spoon to the bowl with a clank. He stood up, roughly knocking his chair back and almost toppling it over. Without a word to her, he walked away, leaving her to stare after him in shock.

He was angry. She couldn't remember the last time he'd been angry at her. She couldn't blame him for thinking that she'd lied. She'd spent so many of the twelve years they'd been married, lying to him, that recognizing her lies—even half lies—had become second nature to him. But never before had a lie made him angry, not outwardly at least.

Ginny could guess what her husband was thinking. As well as he knew her, she knew him. She knew that look on his face, but what he was thinking was wrong. There was no other man this time, not at least in the way he assumed. Ginny had in fact been meeting with Tomas after work, and hence had been late getting back home in the afternoon.

Tomas knew no one in England, and he craved the company she provided. She wouldn't begrudge him the change of a friend, or herself the same thing, not when she had so little to speak off, even if that friend was not much older than her own son.

ooooo

Harry was sitting in the living room of his flat, his eyes focused on the flames that twirled colorfully in the fireplace. He had been back from his trip merely hours, and already he couldn't stand it. Being in the same country with her, and not being able to see her was unbearable, almost to the point of it being heartbreaking.

"Where were you?" Harry asked when Tomas walked in.

"Dad," the boy exclaimed, startled. "You're back early. When did you get in?" He hadn't expected his dad back for at least two more days and so he'd taken a bit of a shock when he'd walked in and found him waiting for him.

"Just a couple of hours ago," Harry answered. "So... having too much fun to miss your old man?" he said with a tired smile.

"Dad, of course not. I just went to this great bookshop in Diagon Alley, lost track of time," he answered, raising the hand that was holding two books.

"As usual," Harry said with the same tired grin. He turned his head to the side to look back at the flames. Tomas recognize the look. He was thinking of her, thinking of Ginny. He often did, and usually Tomas left him to his thoughts. Not that Harry would have minded an interruption, but Tomas felt—or had once he'd been old enough to understand and recognize the look—that his dad needed that time spent in silence.

Harry propped his chin down on his hand, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Has she come by?" he asked after a moment of meditation, looking into the flames.

"No," the boy answered as he walked to sit on the chair across from him. "I have seen her once or twice," he told him, scratching his nose, "in Diagon Alley," he added, putting the two books on the side table next to him.

It was mostly true. He _had_ seen her, but it had been more than once or twice. In fact, that afternoon she'd accompanied him to the bookshop he'd gotten the books from, which he'd discovered during his earlier exploration of Diagon Alley. He decided he would leave the part about Ginny actually spending time with him, out. Maybe Harry would feel bad if he knew she was willing to meet with Tomas, to spend time with him, to take him to bookshops, but wouldn't even agree to talk to Harry.

"Did she ask about me?" Harry asked.

"Kinda," Tomas whispered, lowering his gaze.

Ginny hadn't directly asked. He'd gotten to know her somehow in the two weeks they'd spend meeting at the cafe. From their time together, Tomas had learned that she was the kind of person that might be too proud to ask after someone she was supposed to be angry at. But of course it hadn't escaped the young man's notice when she'd sneaked in the questions about Harry. Somehow, the subject of his dad had come up quite often.

"Well, that's—that's better than nothing I guess." Harry looked down, a sad look on his face. He sighed, clearing his head and he looked up again with a smile, showing a more cheerful Harry. "So… how was your first time alone, young man?"

"It was actually kind of great. The bookshop I went to, they have all these history books about muggles and wizards. I got these there," he said enthusiastically, pointing at the books next to him, on the side table, "this one is on the great battle of 1525," he said, lifting a large, white and blue book, "and this one…" he said, lifting the other one, and then grinning, "…well this one is on you actually. I thought you'd get a kick out of it."

"Did you now?" Harry said with a delighted smile.

"And by you, I mean me, but yeah," the boy said with a mischievous grin. "They have so much wrong, and its all kind of hilarious," he added with a laugh.

Harry smiled. Having Tomas to talk to allowed him to forget for a moment how miserable he was. He could always count on the boy to brighten his day, he was a good at that, and in that regards he was like his mother.

He smiled looking at his son, watching the joy just talking about books brought to him. He couldn't imagine what life would be like if he hand't met his mother, if he didn't now have him.

"Oh, hey, I almost forgot," Harry said when Tomas was done telling him about everything he'd done. "I got you something." He leaned over and pulled a small, brown, paper package from the travel bag next to him. "Here," he said handing it to him. "I got it when I stopped by Germany on the way back. I found it in an underground auction. It's the real story of the destruction of Pompeii. I thought you might enjoy it."

Hearing that, Tomas ripped the paper off and found an ancient-looking, leather-bound book. He flipped open the cover with care and gasped.

"How did you—? This is Hortentio's Diary," he said in shocked awe. "People have been looking for it for centuries."

"So I've heard. Actually, as it turns out, it had been passed down in secret through the generations to his descendants. The last to own it was an old German man, Anton Kristky, he passed away a month ago. His sons were selling away his estate to get themselves out of debt. They actually weren't too sure about selling it to me, they'd put it out by accident, but I gave them an offer they couldn't refuse, and I don't think they really knew what they had, only that their father cherished it."

"What an incredible accident for us," Tomas said as he meticulously held the book in his hands. "Bloody hell, it's written in Oscan!" the boy exclaimed. He looked up at Harry with excitement. "There have been many debates whether it was written in Latin, or even Aramaic, but I always said Oscan. Dr. Murphy kept telling me I was wrong. I wasn't though, was I?" he said with a smug smile, before turning his gaze back down to the book.

"Dr. Murphy is a snob," Harry said, remembering one of Tomas' History teachers, that while brilliant, had thought too highly of himself.

"I can't believe it. Its in perfect condition," he said with glee, carefully turning the yellowing and ancient, yet completely undamaged pages of the book. "Thank God Hortentio was a wizard. He must have performed a preservation spell on it," Tomas said, narrowing his eyebrows as he looked down at the pages, studying them.

"More than that," Harry said with a knowing smile.

"What—what do you mean?" Tomas asked curiously, looking up from the book.

"Well, I had a little incident in a pub about two days ago. A drunk tried to pick a fight with me, he threw me against the lit fire place. Well, my cloak caught on fire and I threw it off before I remembered the book was in my pocket. When I was finally able to get it out, I feared the worst, but the book was completely undamaged. There was nothing, not a scratch, no scorch mark, nothing. So I tried a little _experiment_ , even though I knew you might kill me if you found out."

"What experiment?" Tomas asked, his face filling with horror as he brought the book up to his chest protectively. Harry laughed.

"Nothing too bad. I just threw the book into the fire in my room, and left it until the flames died out."

"You're a monster," Tomas said, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"Oh, come on, look at it, it's perfectly fine," Harry told him. Tomas pulled the book away from his chest, and examined it for any damage, but as Harry had said, nothing was wrong with it. "You see. Anyhow, I think there is more to this diary than some interesting history. Our friend Hortentio was trying to preserve something very important. Maybe you can discover what that is," Harry told him, encouragingly.

Tomas didn't say anything, he'd gone back to staring at the book with awe. That was it Harry realized, there would be no more coherent conversation from the boy. He'd lost himself to its mystery, to the what if, to the wonder.

Harry, half-laughing, stood up. "I'm going to sleep," he told Tomas, "time change has finally got a hold of me. I'll see you in the morning, alright?"

"Yeah….that's great... I'll make dinner," Tomas answered, completely unaware of anything that Harry had said. Harry with a smile, and a shake of his head, walked into his room, leaving Tomas to his book.


	9. Chapter 9: The Ghost

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _*Sorry this took so long, was a bit sick. I'll try to edit the next chapter within a week or so. Thank you for reading._

* * *

 _ ** **CHAPTER NINE: THE GHOST****_

"I need to tell you something, but I need you to hear me out before you say anything."

Ginny was sitting in the living room of Ron and Hermione's house. Hermione was sitting across from her, a cup of tea in her hands, staring at her friend in disbelieve. After a moment, she shook her head with a sigh. "I have the feeling we'll need something stronger than this," she said putting down her tea.

Hermione stood up walked across the room while Ginny watched her from her seat, her tea also forgotten. She stopped in front of a cabinet, and opened it to reveal a dozen or so crystal bottles filled with amber, clear, and even blue colored spirits. She took two glasses, and an amber bottle, "firewhiskey, goblin made," she said as she poured each of them a glass. She took a gulp of hers while still standing at the cabinet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then opened them again as she turned to her friend.

"I am really hoping this is not what I think it is," she said as she sat next to Ginny, handing her one of the crystal glasses.

"Not quite," Ginny said, taking a sip of her drink.

"Ginny, not again," Hermione said in an almost pleading voice.

"Its not what you think, Hermione, It's different this time," she said, explaining herself.

"How could it possibly be different? Remember last time? You shouldn't need reminding. You should know that story better than anyone else. And you do remember how that ended, don't you?"

"Hermione, please, just let me explain," Ginny asked.

"Explain what, that you're throwing your life away again?"

"Argh!" Ginny made a noise in desperation. She tipped back her glass, gulping down the firewhiskey, and put the empty glass on the side table. She stood up, and moved around the sofa and started pacing, her hands to her face. Hermione, turned on the sofa, kneeling on it, leaning over the back to get a better look at her pacing friend.

"Ginny?"

"I'm the screw up, right? Don't expect anything else from me. Poor Ginny, always the failure, that's what you all think of me," Ginny said, still walking in circles behind the sofa. "For once can't you trust me, can't you believe in me?"

"Its not that I don't believe in you, Ginny, its just that I've seen this before, I've seen how you get. I don't say anything because at the end of it all, you'll do what you want to do, and nothing anyone says will convince you to do otherwise," Hermione said. "This man, whomever he is, do you even love him?"

"Love him?"

"Yes, love him; the way you loved Harry, or what ever twisted way you loved Daniel? Because if you do, I'm sorry if I have to remind you that they both broke your heart."

Ginny stopped at the sound of Hermione's words. All she had intended to do was tell Hermione that Harry was back, but Hermione had heard what she'd wanted to hear. That somehow, no matter what Ginny was going to tell her, she had somehow screwed up again. Ginny had decided to tell Harry she was going to stay with her husband, that anything between them was impossible. She'd come to Hermione for comfort and what she'd gotten instead was disappointment. But then, Hermione had asked her if she loved him. Did she?

"I don't know," she said in a whisper, staring into nothing, her face turning from confusion, to realization.

She stumbled sideways, losing her balance. She caught herself on the back of the sofa, and she started shake uncontrollably as she slowly fell on her knees, clutching her face on her hands. "I don't know, Hermione. God, I don't know."

"Ginny!" Hermione left her half drunk firewhiskey on the coffee table, and rushed around the sofa. She stopped, and stared down. She'd realized, in worried-shock, that Ginny wasn't sobbing, but laughing madly.

"Love, Hermione, what the hell is love?" she said turning to sit down, her back to the back of the sofa, her hand up to her forehead, looking up at Hermione.

"Maybe you should rest. I think you just have too much going on right now. You're stressed," Hermione said, stretching a hand, and helping her friend up. With a hand to the back, Hermione led Ginny back to sit on the sofa, and sat down next to her. Ginny had gone eerily quiet.

"It's him, Hermione," Ginny whispered.

"It's him?" she asked confused, but Ginny was now staring down at her hands. She had ignored it, she had avoided the topic in her own mind. Avoided it so much that the thought hadn't even entered her mind, not until Hermione had asked her the question.

"He might be the end of me. He might brake my heart again. But I think I do, I think I still love him."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's back, Hermione," she finally said. It had been so low that Hermione had had to strain her ears to hear it.

"He's back? Who's back?" Hermione asked, completely unaware of the meaning of her friend's words.

"He came back. After fourteen years—he came back, the bastard."

Hermione was now the quiet one, confused, in fact hoping she was confused. Because what she thought she heard, what she thought she understood could not be true. She thought she had heard __'fourteen years'__ and to anyone who knew the story, to hear that would know immediately, that __'fourteen years'__ could only mean one person.

"He? You don't mean?" Hermione said horrified.

"Yes. Harry."

ooooo

The day had gone, and it had quickly become night. Together, Hermione and Ginny had drunk the whole bottle of firewhiskey, and had started on a new one. They were raising their glasses for a toast, when the front door opened. Ron walked in, wearing his dark work robes. He was holding a suitcase and had a cloak draped over his forearm. At the sound of the door, both girls had turned in unison and smiled at the sight of him.

"Ron!" they'd both bellowed, putting up their glasses to him.

"Girls!" he called back with a smile as he put down his suitcase, and hung his cloak on the coat-rack near the door. "Toasting I see. To me?" he asked as he walked to them.

Ginny stood up, and on wobbly legs walked forward until she was standing inches from her brother.

"To a ghost," she said.

"To a ghost who didn't stay gone, to be more exact," Hermione added.

"Oh, in that case; cheers," Ron said, putting an arm around his sister, more for her benefit than anything else. He place a kiss on her forehead and sighed as he looked down at her. After a moment, he turned to Hermione. He didn't often see his wife drink more than the proper amount. It was somewhat out of character in her, but not in his sister. To his dismay, Ginny had a lot of bad habits, and she was also very influential, but he wouldn't hold that against her, they all had free will, and at the end of it, they all made their own choices.

He remembered his own twenty-second birthday; well—he didn't actually remember much, thanks to his sister. But what he did remember was that two months later he'd married Hermione, and seven months after that, Dwight had been born. He'd never regretted it, even if he had wished he hadn't been drunk that night. But now they were happy, Hermione, their boys and him,. Not to mention, it had been a long time since he had seen Ginny smile so effortlessly, unless her son was the subject. Besides, they were home, and they were safe. __What could be the harm?__ he thought, _ _let them toast to their Ghost.__

Ron released Ginny, and walking forward to sit on the sofa next to his wife. Ginny followed, stopping a few feet from the sofa. She stood there, looking down at his brother and sister-in-law, swaying slightly on the spot. Ron looked at his sister for a moment, making sure she wasn't going to topple over. When he was satisfied that that wouldn't happen, he turned to Hermione and gave her a kiss.

"Where are the boys, Love?" he asked.

"Sleeping," Hermione said, looking up at him through bleary eyes as she played with the collar of his shirt.

"I think I'll get to bed then," he told her, "it was a long day at the office, not as fun as yours, I'm sad to say."

"Oh, Ron," Ginny whined, "you're not going to toast to the Ghost?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," Ron said.

"Ron, don't be—" she said taking a step forward. Whatever she was going to say, she didn't say, because at that moment, she did lose her balance and stumbled back, but luckily managed to fall on the sofa. "I'm fine," Ginny called to no one in particular. Ron, who'd been halfway out of his seat, settled back down and sighed, shaking his head.

"Okay, well," he said, leaning forward, kissing Hermione one last time, "goodnight."

As he leaned away, ready to stand up, Hermione grabbed him from the collar, and pulled him forward to whisper in his ear, "wait for me upstairs," she said, and pulled him in for a hard kiss.

"Okay," he said with a laugh as Hermione pulled away with a devious smile. He moved to Ginny and gave her a goodnight kiss as well, and started to walk away. "You both don't drink our whole stock, or you'll be sorry in the morning," he said over his shoulder, halfway up the stairs.

"We'll try," Hermione called as Ron reached the second floor landing.

"Can't promise anything," Ginny said.

"Dig your own graves then," he said, as he walked the last couple of steps and disappeared at the top of the stairs.

"Good night, Ron!" Ginny called.

"I just love that man. He's just so, ahhh—" Hermione said, her eyes sparkling, as she looked towards the second floor, "I just want to eat him up every time I see him, rip his clothes of and—"

"Ew, that's my brother. I rather you not share your sex life with me," Ginny said, laughing.

"Oh, I know, but he's so." Hermione stared dreamily into the ceiling, in the direction of her and Ron's room. "You seen those eyes, and that hair, his arms, his—"

"Yea, whatever." Ginny pulled herself up from the sofa. "Anyways, I got an idea, come on," she said, pulling Hermione up by the arm with difficulty. "Let's go on an adventure, you and I," she told her, holding herself up against Hermione, as Hermione did the same.

"Where we going?"

"Its a surprise," Ginny muttered, as she guided Hermione to the front door.

Hermione hit the coat-rack, banging it against the wall as she tried to get her's, and Ginny's cloaks off of it. "Shhh," she whispered at the coat-rack, putting a finger to her lips to signal silence. She managed to remove the cloaks from the rack, and pushed Ginny's cloak into her arms. Cloaks finally on, Ginny slowly opened the front door, and they walked out into the night, closing the door behind them without making a sound.

"You think he'll notice?" Hermione asked looking up to her lit bedroom window.

"If he does, it'll be too late," Ginny thought out loud with a smile. "Hold onto me," she said, grabbing Hermione by the hand as they reached the front gate.

"What?" Hermione said, looking down at their clasped hands, but Ginny didn't answer. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on the place she wanted to go to. Then, without warning, she turned on the spot, and with a loud crack, they both disappeared.

ooooo

Hermione grunted as she stood up from the ground where they had landed in a pile of limbs and robes. The abrupt apparition, and harsh landing, had sobered her a bit. Blinking slowly, she looked around at the lamp lit streets. Every curb was lined with cars, and the street lamps were electrical, not fueled by oil.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, eyebrows narrowed.

"Come on, you'll find out soon enough." Ginny pulled her by the arm, and guided her to the closest building.

With her wand, Ginny unlocked the front glass door, and pulled Hermione in through the door, and across the lobby to the the base of the stairs.

"Why don't we use the lift." Hermione said.

"The what?"

"The lift," she repeated, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders, and turning her towards a set of brown, metal doors, and pointing.

"Oh."

Wobbly on their legs, they walked over to the lifts. "I didn't even know there were lifts here. Last time I was here I ran out, didn't even look," Ginny said as Hermione pressed the up button. The doors slid open almost immediately.

"You ran out?" Hermione started as they walked into the lift, but stopped, "—wait, what floor?" she asked, her previous query forgotten.

"Uhm…I think it was the top floor," Ginny said, trying to remember. The only time she had been there, she had been rather distraught, and she hadn't bothering to remember the apartment's location. Thinking back on it though, three floors made sense, so three floors it was.

"You think?" Hermione asked.

"Noooo," Ginny scoffed, then stopped to think, staring blankly at nothing in particularly, then she laughed and turned to Hermione. "Its definitely the third," she said, reaching over Hermione and pressing the button marked three.

Soon they were out of the lift, and Ginny was knocking on a door with the number 3B on it. Nothing happened, so Ginny knocked again, this time more forcefully.

"Come on, open up," she said, knocking a third time, leaning forward as if speaking to the door. "Open, open, open, open," she said, knocking with each word.

After a moment, Ginny raised her fist to knock again, but froze. There were footsteps coming from behind the door. She stepped back as she heard the bolt click open. She smiled, as the door swung open to reveal Tomas in his night clothes, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

"Ginny?" Tomas said, confused, as he recognized her.

"Oh, Ginny, he's too young for you," Hermione blurted out as she took in the boy.

"What?" Ginny turned around with half a laugh, "Hermione don't be silly, this is Tomas," she said pointing at the young man. "He's the best friend a girl can have."

"What about me?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, you're different. You're Hermione, he's Tomas," Ginny answered, looking back at Tomas as she said his name.

"I know I'm Hermione, but how does that change anything?"

"I doesn't, but if he's Tomas—and that makes you not Tomas, and him not Hermione." Hermione thought for a moment, and then laughed.

Tomas sighed. They were drunk. Great. She liked Ginny, a lot, but he didn't want to hang out with her and her drunk friend in the middle of the night.

"I—" Hermione started to say, but Tomas interrupted her before they could talk themselves into a drunken loop of nonsense.

"You want to come in?" Tomas asked, moving out of the way, and motioned for them to go in.

"Don't mind if we do," Ginny said, her conversation with Hermione completely forgotten, as she pulled her friend in by the hand.

"So what's going on, what are you doing here?" Tomas asked after he closed the door behind himself. He looked up at the clock on the wall, "Its one in the morning," he said, "is everything alright?" he added, looking back at Ginny and her friend, waiting for an answer.

Tomas thought that the woman with Ginny looked familiar. What had Ginny called her just now; Helena, Hanna?

"Oh, well I thought you might want to meet Hermione. You said you loooved her books, and that you couldn't wait to meet her. Well here she is, in all her glory, Hermione Weas—" she stopped mid-sentence and turned to her friend, "how do you put it in the books?"

"Granger," Hermione answered, not taking her eyes from the boy.

"Okay, Hermione Granger in books, Weasley everywhere else," Ginny said, turning back to Tomas, presenting Hermione with both arms spread out, like she were presenting him with a grand gift. "Hermione, this is Tomas Potter," she said introducing the two.

"Potter?" Hermione said puzzled, looking at the young man in front of her. She was definitely sobering up.

"Granger, the author?" Tomas said, waking up completely.

" _ _Yes__!" Ginny said with a smile.

"Oh, wow. It is such an honor to meet you," he said, extending a hand to the confused Hermione. Tomas seemed to no longer be disturbed by the sudden, middle of the night, drunken visit.

"Pleasure," Hermione said taking the young man's hand, and shaking it, then she turned back to Ginny. "Did you say Potter? Are we in his house? In Harry's—is he his?" she said, pointing at Tomas.

Hermione didn't wait for an answer. She started to look around the flat, turning her head from side to side, searching, as if Harry was going to jump out from behind some piece of furniture and surprise her.

"You mean Dad?" Tomas said, a big smile on his face, unable to contain his excitement at being in Hermione's presence. "I'll go wake him up. He just got back a few hours ago, probably why he didn't hear the noise you two were making, but he won't mind, trust me." He didn't wait for an answer, he was already walking to a door on the back of the flat.

"Ginny, why did we come here?" Hermione asked as Tomas walked into the dark room, but Ginny just put an arm around Hermione's shoulder, and leaned into her.

"Thought you might want to meet Tomas, he's a nice boy. He looks up to you, thinks you're marvelous." She smiled, poking Hermione on the nose as she said the last word.

"I can't believe he's Harry's son. I mean he called him dad, didn't he?" At that moment, Tomas emerge from the room, followed by a half asleep Harry.

"Ginny, is everything—? Hermione." He stopped.

"Harry!" Ginny called. She stumbled forward and Harry reached forward to catch her. She put an arm around his middle, and stood next to him. "Look who I brought," she said pointing at Hermione. "All we need now is Ronnie, and the group's back together. Wouldn't that be splendid?" she said to Hermione, but her friend had gone catatonic. To Hermione it did feel as if Harry had jumped out at her and screamed _ _"Surprise!"__

"Harry," Hermione said almost in a whisper, looking at the man before her. He was older, no longer a teenager but a man. It seemed as if fourteen years had only done him good, as if age had only improved him. He looked tired, and stubbled, but still he looked as alive as she remembered him. His eyes as bright and young as the last time she'd seen him.

"So, you're here then? For how long?" Hermione said with a grimace.

"Hermione, please, you're in no state to discuss this right now. Maybe you two should go home. Tomas, would you—?" he started to say again, trying to walk away from Ginny, but couldn't. Ginny was holding tightly onto him.

"Don't leave me again, Harry, please not again," she was saying, her arms had moved to wrap themselves around his neck. She was holding tightly onto him, as if her life depended on it.

"Ginny." Harry was trying to pull her away, she need to sleep off the liquor. "I'm not going anywhere. You need rest. Let Tomas accompany you home," he was telling her as he tried to pull her arms from around his neck.

"Don't make me go, don't go, please don't," she was saying, lower and lower each time, as if she were drifting into sleep.

"Ginny."

"We need you, Charlie needs you. You're…" she whimpered, "don't leave us again, Harry, please."

Harry had gone quiet, staring down at a now unconscious Ginny in his arms. He wasn't sure if he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. He looked back at Hermione with a terrified, confused look, but she looked down, away from him. He swallowed hard, and then swooped Ginny into his arms, and walked away into the room he had come out of. A moment later he was back empty handed.

"Did she say…?" Harry started to ask.

"I can't, Harry," Hermione said, interrupting him.

"Hermione." The tension was growing, Tomas had stopped smiling, he was looking at both adults in turn as they spoke.

"I think I'll go to my room," he said, and when he didn't receive an answer from either one, he walked away slowly towards his own bedroom door.

"The boy, he's mine?" Harry asked again.

"Harry, please. This is not a conversation you should be having with me."

"Tell me." This time the words came out in a pleading request, "tell me I didn't leave her pregnant, and alone." His voice had started to shake. "Tell me I didn't leave a son, that I left my son," his words were strained as he choked on them. "Oh bloody hell!" he cried out. "What did I do!? What the hell did I do!?" His hands were on his face, and he had fallen back onto the sofa, shaking. "What did I do?"

Looking at him, Hermione felt a need to comfort him, to tell him it would be alright, but pride stood in her way. Just because he was distraught, it didn't take away the years of suffering he had caused them all, specially Ginny. His pain wouldn't make her forget that she had suffered too, so had Ron, so had Mrs. Weasley who had loved Harry as much as she did her own children.

"Tell me!" he yelled, for a moment losing all self control. Startled, Hermione jump back a step. She took a deep breath, telling herself she needed to keep her feelings in check, and her wits about her.

"You—you did," she answered, and then turned around to walk to the room were Ginny was laying. Minutes later she walked out holding up a half asleep Ginny.

"She can stay—" Harry started.

"I'll take her home," Hermione said, walking by him and not bothering to even look at him.

"I can take you then—"

"—No, Harry, we'll be fine. We've done well enough so far without you. There's no need for your interference now, you've done enough."

ooooo

Hermione had dropped Ginny off home, given her to Alan, who had picked her up in his arms like he'd done so many times before. Thanking Hermione, he'd turned away from her, Ginny in his arms, leaving Hermione to close the door and go to her own house.

She'd arrived home to find a very worried Ron waiting for her.

"Jesus, Hermione, were did you two go?" Ron asked, walking forward until they were only feet apart.

"Ginny dragged me to a pub," she lied. "I took her home already," she added.

"Honestly, you two, leaving the house in the state you were in. Something could have happened, you could have been hurt," he said, more relieved than angry, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Love, I should have used better judgment." She put her arms around him, and sighed. "Let's just go to bed," she said. He shook his head agreeing.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Exhausted."

"Long day, huh?"

"The longest."


	10. Chapter 10: Summers' Day Out

__*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation.__

* * *

 ** **CHAPTER TEN: SUMMERS' DAY OUT****

It was early in the morning the next day. Alan had left Ginny asleep in bed, and was now eating breakfast with Charlie.

"Do you work today, Dad?"

"Not today," Alan answered from behind the Daily Prophet he was reading.

"Can we go to Quality Quidditch?" Charlie asked after a moment.

"We'll see," he answered still not looking up from his newspaper.

"Okay," the boy said going back to his bowl of cereal with a bit of a sigh.

A few minutes passed in silence in which Charlie looked down at his bowl of cereal, eating one spoonful after another, and Alan read his newspaper.

A knock sounded from the front door, and Alan looked up from his newspaper, then another knock. He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time and cocked an eyebrow as he folded the paper, put it down and stood up to answer the door.

Charlie looked up as his father walked away. Alan preferred answering the door when his housekeeper had the day off, rather than letting the house-elves do it. He reached the foyer and looked out through the side windows. Standing on his front porch, stood a man he didn't recognize. He looked nervous, and impatient, and was making white-knuckled fists with his hands and then releasing them. After a moment, the man let out a breath, and then passed a hand through his dark hair.

Alan stared for a moment, trying to place him. He was good with faces, but for the life of him, he couldn't place this man and it made him uncomfortable. After a moment, the man lifted his fist to knock again, but instead of letting him, Alan opened the door shocking the man, who took a step back before focusing on Alan.

ooooo

"Oh, good morning," Harry said, as Alan opened the door.

"Good morning," Alan answered, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn't exactly a threatening pose, but Harry was still put off by a man who would choose to cross his arms, as if guarding himself off, yet look so blankly at him, as if nothing was going through his mind but the 'good morning' he'd greeted him with.

"I'm looking for Ginny Weasley," Harry said, clearing his throat.

"It's Summers."

"Excuse me?"

"Summers not Weasley," Alan repeated as if he were telling him the time. "I'm her husband, Alan Summers, and who may you be?"

"Oh, right, sorry. I'm actually an old friend from school. Harry…Evans," he said, giving his mother's surname instead of his own.

"Well, Mr. Evans, my wife's actually indisposed at the moment. Would you like to leave her a message?" So polite, Harry thought. So unnervingly polite. Stoic, and... he couldn't really say, just too calm.

"Uhm… sure. I was just back in town for some business, and I'd thought I'd get some of us together," Harry said, "I guess we'll just have to catch up another time," he added, not really knowing what else to say. Now that he stood in front of her husband, he was sure he'd made a mistake by coming here. That man, he couldn't read him, and to him that was something that had never happened before. "Maybe I'll pass by later, see if she'd feeling better," Harry said after a moment.

"If you like, but I can't guarantee we'll be home. We might take our son out for the day, if she's up for it. He was promised an outing today," Alan said almost conversationally.

"In that case," Harry said with a shake of the head, "would you mind telling her I came around?"

He didn't know why, but he already didn't like this Alan. Maybe it was that he'd called Charlie his son, or maybe it was that he was married to Ginny. Yes, those were definitely deciding factors for him not liking the man, but there was something else about him. His perceived politeness was an obvious mask. Because of his job, Harry had learned to read people, even people as astute as Alan Summers, and over the years he'd gotten really good at it. He didn't know what, but something about him was off, something felt dangerous.

"I will," Alan answered, not offering any kind of friendliness towards him.

"Okay, well, thank you," Harry said as he started to turn around.

"Goodbye, Mr. Evans," Alan said, standing in the threshold, watching Harry walk away. Harry could feel the man's gaze on him, but he kept on walking down the front walk.

"Who was that, Dad?" Charlie asked as Alan turned around after closing the front door.

"No one," Alan answered. He rubbed his hands together, and turned back towards the closed door, then back towards his son who had slightly cocked eyebrow. "So….how about that trip to Diagon Alley," Alan said, smiling after a short moment.

"Really?" Charlie said, all questions abandoning his face, and lighting with excitement.

"Of course. As soon as your mother's up, we'll get going." He patted Charlie on the head and walked back into the house. Charlie smiled, jumping on the balls of his feet. Halfway down the hallway Alan stopped, and turned back to the boy who still stood in the foyer looking as happy as could be. "I think," Alan said, taking a step back towards Charlie, "I think maybe we shouldn't mention that man to your mother," he said, finishing his thought.

"Who is he?" Charlie asked confused.

"Someone that would only upset her, and we don't want that, do we?" Alan asked, shaking his head.

"No," Charlie said furrowing his eyebrows, shaking his own head, "I guess we don't. I won't say anything," he fished looking up into Alan's eyes with a resolute nod of his head.

"Good lad." Alan smiled. "You know what I was thinking?" Charlie shook his head. "Well, you're getting older, and I was thinking its time for you to have a new racing broom," Alan said patting his son's shoulder, giving him a bright smile.

"Really?"

"Really. Come on, lets finish up our breakfast," he told the boy, guiding him back into the dinning room.

ooooo

A couple of hours later, Ginny, Alan and Charlie were in Diagon Alley. With a bulging bag from one of the shops in one hand, and a brand new racing broom wrapped in brown paper, under the other, Charlie walked with an excited hop to his step. A big, bright smile was plastered on his face. His eyes were wide, and bright, and full of happiness. According to Charles Arthur Summers, this was the best day of his life.

Leisurely walking, a few steps behind the boy, followed his parents. Alan, holding Ginny by the hand, guided her down the street—a placid look on his face. If anyone looked their way—which plenty of people often did—all they would see, is a happy family out for a day in the shops.

All was not perfect however, not as the passersby might think it, and the day was not as bright and shinny as Charlie saw it. Ginny had a headache, a really bad headache, and Alan didn't actually want to be there. But the man that morning had made him nervous with his jittery behavior. The only exception was Charlie, who was the happiest boy in the world at that moment. The reality of it was that as miserable as Ginny felt, she didn't actually mind being out with her family—really with Charlie. Next to her, Alan felt tense. She could feel it in the way he held her hand, in how he guided her through the busy alley. She wasn't sure what had happened the night before. They'd gotten drunk, and then they'd gone out, of that much she was sure. She thought—she wasn't really sure—but she thought they might have gone to see Harry. She would have to talk to Hermione later; she just hoped she didn't do anything stupid while drunk. Unfortunately, that tended to happen often enough—her judgement didn't tend to be the best under those conditions. That's how she had met Daniel.

"Look, mum." Charlie pointed, making a bee line for a shop window. The shop's front display was laden with complicated toys, and trinkets only someone Charlie's age would find interesting. Long ago had the days passed when Charlie would be impressed by a small moving action figure, or a color changing top. "Can we go in?" he asked excitedly.

"Of course," Ginny answered with a smile. It seemed the child in him came out, when he was put in front of some shop filled with toys and gadgets.

"I think I'll go to Madam Malkin's," Alan said, letting go of his wife's hand. "I wanted to get some new navy blue dress robes," he finished looking around, and then back at his family.

"That's fine. You'll meet back here then?" Ginny asked.

"Of course, half an hour to an hour. You never know how busy the place is going to be." Ginny nodded, and Alan turned away from them.

Ginny and Charlie walked towards the toy shop, as Alan went in the opposite direction towards Madam Malkin's. Ginny was pretty sure, no, she was positive, he'd used the robe as an excuse to not have to spend half an hour or more looking at toys. He had plenty of navy dress robes.

Charlie entered the shop with a smile; Ginny offered a hand to Charlie to pass her the package and the bag, which he did, before getting lost in the crowd of shoppers. Half an hour into their shopping, and Ginny was already holding a set of miniature dragons, and something in a glass box which let out bright colors.

"Only one more thing, Charlie," Ginny was calling, as her son returned from the throng of shoppers with three different things.

"Mum, please."

"Only one more or we leave with nothing," Ginny said sternly, but not harshly. "You already got the broom today," she reminded him. This was something she often had to deal with, saying no to him; not getting him everything he wanted, not allowing him to get away with everything—not that he did all that much. No mischievousness beyond; sneaking out of his dorm after hours, or playing harmless pranks on teachers. Still, she felt the need to be the though sometimes, a lot of times actually. Mainly because Alan tended to spoil him, which meant he almost never said no. Or if he got in trouble in school, it was Ginny who had to go deal with it. Alan said it was because he was busy with work, but she knew it was because he couldn't be bothered with such trivial things as child rearing. Even so, Charlie was not one to push his mother's limits when she said enough was enough.

"Okay," the boy said, putting all three down, one next to the other to the said of the front counter were Ginny had waited for her son. He observed them closely, choosing which one he wanted. Ginny watched with a smile. This was something he'd learned from Alan; not to rush any decision, no matter how small. "It's the small things that often make the difference." She remembered Alan telling Charlie once. He'd still been quite small, and maybe—in any other boy—not quite ready to grasp the meaning. But Charlie, as her mother often said, had an old soul. Those had been one of those time when Alan had intervened. "You make the wrong choice, son, and only you will bare the consequences."

Ginny looked at her son, wondering if the boy he'd become—one so much like her, but also so much like Alan—would grow into a man who was happy. One who felt fulfilled in what he'd accomplished in life. She sure didn't, and Alan, well she couldn't really say. Had their marriage been as close to perfect as reality would allow, would he be happy, satisfied? No, she doubted it. Alan needed more than life could realistically give him, he demanded it. He demanded greatness, demanded perfection, demanded a world that did not exist.

"He's beautiful." A hand fell on her shoulder as the words echoed in her ear. Ginny jumped startled out of her musings, and turned to find Harry standing behind her.

"What are you doing here?" she said, taking a step away from him.

"I wanted to meet him," he said, pointing at the boy who was now comparing two toys.

"Why—"

"I went by your house this morning. Did your husband tell you?" Ginny simply stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. "Of course not," Harry continued when Ginny didn't answer. "He seems like the controlled, jealous type. You never know what he's thinking, how angry he is. Not until he pulls your head off," Harry said, now so close to Ginny that she could feel his warm breath on her neck, making her tremble. He was right, of course, Ginny had always thought that about Alan.

"I'll see you tonight in my flat, nine. We have to talk….he __is__ beautiful. Thank you," he said, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek before quickly walking away unnoticed by Alan, who had walked in the front door holding a garment-bag from Madam Malkin's, and Charlie who approached them, and was still stuck between his two last choices

"I'm not sure which one," Charlie said, looking up at his mother.

"Just take them both," Alan said, looking at Charlie, whose eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yes—are you done, then?" Alan asked. "Ginny?"

"Oh, oh yes, we're done here," she said, taking both expensive looking toys from her son's hands, and placing them on the counter next to the other two. She had completely forgotten, she had told her son he could only have one more, but Alan was always willing to indulge, so he wouldn't have to be bothered.

"How much?" Alan asked the clerk behind the counter. The clerk answered with an exorbitant amount. Alan didn't flinch at the amount as he pulled out an emerald, blue, and gold card from his pocket. The card had a moving picture of himself, and the words __Gringotts Mastery Wizard Account__ printed on the top, on the bottom, __Alan Jeffrey Summers Jr. Vault. 2768b.__ The Old man took the card, quickly and read Alan's name.

"Would you please confirm, Mr. Summers," the clerk said, pulling out, from underneath the counter, a blue tablet. He placed the card on the bottom left corner, and Alan placed his palm open, in the middle. The tablet glowed yellow, then green, then finally blue. "Thank you sir, and enjoy these young man," the clerk said smiling down at Charlie, as he handed Alan the bags over the counter, "and remember no better place to play, than Emerald's Toy Emporium," he finished, looking back at Alan as he gave him back his card.

"Yes…well," he said looking at the man with a blank expression, "let's go, then," Alan said taking his card, and hastily passing Charlie his bag of toys.

"Thanks, dad," Charlie said brightly, taking the bag from his father, and looking inside.

"Ginny, come on," he said, taking his wife by the hand, and pulling her out of the shop, unaware that she'd been looking out the window, at the man sitting in the corner café. The man who'd been watching them sadly. Watching the man had his family, and it was his fault.


	11. Chapter 11: The Storm

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, been pre-occupied with other things. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it._

 _Thank you,_

 _Brenda._

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE STORM**

The moment they'd arrived home from Diagon Alley, Ginny had given Alan some excuse about helping Hermione, then walked without bothering to grab her cloak. Rain had started to fall, and by the time she had made it inside her friend's house, she'd been soaked though. She shivered, the cold making her tremble all the way down to her bones, but she had to know, she had to know what she had done.

Hermione opened the door to the trembling Ginny. Hermione sighed. It pained her to think it, but she was used to these kind of behavior. Her friend—whom she loved like a sister—had been digging herself into this hole for over a decade now. It wasn't the mistakes—people made mistakes—for that no one could blame her. But it seemed as if Ginny sought out these bad situations, and then dove head first, without a thought of the consequences. And of course, now, like every other time, there she stood in her doorway, hoping to be comforted.

"What did I do?" Ginny asked, stepping in through the threshold, shivering in her soaping-wet clothes.

"What did you do?" Hermione said, closing the door before turning to her friend.

"Yesterday. We went to Harry's. I remember that much. But I told him, didn't I? About Charlie?" she asked, walking into the family room, without waiting for her friend's response. She wiped water droplets from her face, as she turned in a haze to look back at Hermione.

"First of all, you need to calm down. Getting yourself all wound up about it won't help at all." Hermione reached a comforting hand to her friend, but Ginny simply shrugged it away, and walked around the center table, leaving a barrier between herself and Hermione.

"Just tell me, Hermione. I know it already, but I need to know for sure. Did I tell him he was Charlie's father?" She lowered her voice, staring at her friends, her eyes pleading for the answer she already knew.

Hermione sighed and sat down, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and looking away from Ginny's gaze. She nodded her answer.

"You have to say it," Ginny repeated, low but demanding.

"You told him," Hermione said, looking back to her friend.

Ginny lowered her head between her knees, and brought her hands up over her head. She didn't make a sound. She just sat there, bent forward, unmoving, quiet.

"Ginny?" Hermione said, moving closer. "Ginny?" she said as she put a hand to her friend's shoulder. The touch was like an electric shock that sent Ginny to her feet, as she fled the touch. Hermione jumped back startled with a little noise.

"Thank you," Ginny said, wiping a single tear from her cheek. She turned away from Hermione, and started to walk away, heading towards the front door.

"Wait. Stay. It's pouring outside. You're half frozen. Let's talk, I'll make us some tea," Hermione said as she followed her friend to the door.

"No thank you. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow" Ginny said as she opened the front door without turning. Hermione stopped at the threshold.

"Ginny, wait. Come back, please!" she called out into the stormy night, but it was too late. No sooner had Hermione called out to her, that Ginny had dissaparated.

"What's going on?" Ron appeared at the doorway besides his wife. Having heard to commotion from the study. The raised voices that had made their way to him as he looked over some paperwork had brought him out to investigate. He'd walked out, and there stood his wife, frozen at the doorway, calling out his sister's name.

"Was that Ginny I heard?" he asked. Hermione nodded as she looked out to the dark, rainy night.

"What's going on? Hermione?" Ron asked, starting to worry. A moment of silence passed, as Hermione stared out into the night, and Ron stared at Hermione. Then, just as he was ready to take her by the shoulders, shake some sense into her, she spoke.

"She told him," Hermione whispered, still looking into the rain.

"Who told what to whom?" Ron asked, one eyebrow raised, mouth set in a worried line. She said nothing. He put a hand on each shoulder, and turned her to face him, so that they were finally face to face. He put a tender hand under her chin, raising it so that their eyes met. "Hermione?"

"Ginny," she said, tears falling from her eyes, as she looked at her husband

"Ginny, what?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"She told Harry that Charlie was his son," she said, pulling herself into her husband's arms, wrapping her own around him. "He came back," she said almost in a cry, "last night when we went out, we didn't go to a pub. She took me to his flat. I didn't know until yesterday. She'd been keeping it to herself, it seems for weeks now. That's why we were drinking, because she'd come to tell me," she cried.

Ron was frozen. His arms wrapped around his wife, looking into nothing as she'd spoken. After she'd said Harry was back, he'd stopped listening.

"He's back?" he repeated, as they both stood in front of the open door. Outside, the rain had grown into a mighty downpour, roaring like a tiger. A lightning bold lit up the gray sky as they looked out into the night, and a moment later the sharp sound of thunder filled the air. A storm was coming.

ooooo

Harry was sitting on the gray sofa in his flat. His head was thrown back, his hands limp at his lap.

 _She won't come_ , he thought, _not with the storm outside_. It would be mad if she did. He would have to wait one more day. But what was one more day when he'd waited fourteen years. Nothing really, he told himself, just one more night, one more morning, one more day until they spoke. Yes, it was nothing. Who was he kidding. Even five minutes seemed an eternity as he sat there. Even a minute was torture.

He was tired. He should sleep. Staying up all night would do him no good, not when there was nothing to be done. Not when he needed to have his whits about him for what was to come. He sighed, and sat up, bringing his face down to his hands, letting a loud grunt escape his lips as he rubbed at his face vigorously. After a moment, he finally looked up, staring at the door and then, begrudgingly he stood, and turned away from it.

ooooo

Ginny walked the storm filled streets of London, crying, thinking. She'd not gone home, or to Harry's. She was stuck in this in-between, where both choices led her to misery.

What was she going to do? Family had always meant everything to Harry, and she knew—as well as she knew herself—that there was no way he would give up his the opportunity to know his son. She couldn't bare the thought of what would happen when he did. Not for her sake, of course, not even for Alan, but for her son, for Charlie. It would surely break his heart, to know that Alan—the only father he'd ever known—was not truly his father.

But worse of all, people would start talking again. With Ginny's history, and now that Charlie was in school, and old enough to understand. Things were surely to get ugly for their family. For him.

What would happen when he went back to Hogwarts after his Summer holiday? How would his classmates treat him? What would they whisper as he walked by?

People had called her a whore before; she knew some of those people were the parents of some of Charlie's classmates. Until now, she'd been sure that her son was unaware of the details of his mother's wanton behavior. What would happen when she couldn't protect him from her past? What would happen when he found out who he really had for a mother?

She closed her eyes, and made a choking sound. She knew there was nothing she could do about it. At that moment, there was nothing to be done. The only control she had was to keep on walking. To meander down the storm-filled streets, slowly, like a ghost, a person lost of all hope.

She didn't know exactly how much time she'd walked, or if even if she'd moved at all. Had time kept on moving? It didn't seem like it had. She felt like time had slowed down to make every minute worst than the one before. Every part of herself ached. She hurt, and she didn't seem to be able to grasp at fibers of reality that were unraveling around her, so she walked.

After a while she realized she stood in front of Harry's building. She wasn't even sure how she had made it there. Her feet had taken her wondering aimlessly, or so she'd thought. Something inside of her had made her feet move, had guided her to this place, to him.

She stood in front of the building, shaking uncontrollably, trembling from somewhere inside her core. Her lips were numb, her face cold. Her red hair fell wildly over her face, her heart pounding hard in her chest, knocking at the very core of her being, telling her she had to, there was no way back, she had to.

ooooo

Harry woke from his restless sleep, startled by a loud rapping sound. He sat up in bed, and listened. Nothing. Had he dreamt it? No, there it was again. Another loud knock, and then another. It'd become an insistent banging as he stood up, and rushed out of his room. He ripped the front door open and found Ginny standing in the hallway. She lowered her hand, and stumbled on the spot, mouthing something.

She fell forward, straight into him. She should have hit the door-frame, face first, but he moved fast. His reflexes from his years as a Seeker, had kicked in just in time. Harry fell back with the sudden addition of her weight on him. He caught himself with one arm on the door frame.

"Tomas!" he called regaining his balance. He lifted her up into his arms, shutting the door with a kick of his foot. "Tomas," he called louder as he turned to face the room with Ginny in his arms.

"What—?" The boy finally answered, coming out of his bedroom, yawning. He was holding a book against his chest, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of one pajama-clad hand. He looked up and finally noticed what was going on in his living-room. Harry carrying a pale, unconscious Ginny in his arms. He dropped the book and ran to them.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She's soaked through. Freezing. Get me the warming potion from the cabinet, and an extra blanket. We have to warm her," Harry said, carrying her to his own room.

He sat Ginny on the bed and wrapped his blanket around her. He turned and grabbed a towel from a clean laundry pile atop his dresser, and started to dry her hair. When he was done, he carefully laid a trembling Ginny down onto the bed.

A moment later, Tomas rushed back into the room. In one hand, he held a small vial, full of smooth red liquid. Under his other arm, he had a thick, green blanket, which he quickly passed to Harry.

Harry draped the blanket over the one already covering Ginny, and then reached out to received the vile Tomas held in his hand.

"Why would she walk around in this storm?" the boy said, standing at the edge of the bed.

"I went to look for her," Harry said, as he slightly parted Ginny's pale, trembling lips, and poured the content of the vile down her throat. "I shouldn't have. I should have waited. I'm such an idiot, impulsive as always. I just couldn't stop myself, even when I was screaming inside not to do it."

"What happened?" Tomas asked.

Tomas had not been in the room days before, when Ginny—in her inebriated state—had told Harry that Charlie was his son. He tried to warm Ginny by rubbing her arms, but no matter what he did, she still shook uncontrollably.

"I went looking for her when I shouldn't have," he said, lowering himself onto the bed next to her, putting his arms around her. Tomas was standing at the edge of the bed, looking at Harry.

"I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said as he rubbed his hands up and down Ginny's body, trying to warm her up.

ooooo

"Dad, we have to take her to St. Mungo's, she's burning up," Tomas said, wringing his hands.

Harry had the back of his hand on Ginny's forehead. Two hours had passed and she hadn't woken up. She was still pale, and cold, and all she did was tremble, mumbling in her sleep. The warming potion hadn't done much. She was sweating cold, and had a very high fever.

"How would we even get her there safely. It's still storming outside, and we don't have a fireplace that's connected to the floo." Harry recognized the signs of Tomas' growing panic. He was talking to no one in particular, pacing back and forth, making plans, working things out.

"I'll apparate with her," Harry said. Before Tomas had time to object, Harry had lifted Ginny up in his arms.

"In her condition?" Timas cried out. "You can't possibly side-apparate with her, not while she unconscious. It's reckless, at best. We both know this is going to be dangerous, even for you."

"What the hell do you think will happen if I don't do something!?" Harry asked. "Should I just I just let her die!?" It was rhetorical question, and there was nothing Tomas could do about it. Once Harry had made up his mind about something, there was nothing to be done but try to help him, try to reduce the size of the disastrous outcome. Harry had Ginny tightly wrapped in one of the blankets, and up in his arms.

"I—" Tomas started, looking down at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Tomas. I can't wait. Don't worry, I'll be fine. _We'll_ be fine. I'll apparate with her, and when the storm slows down, you go down to the pub and use the floo. Message her parents in the Burrow, and then meet me at the hospital."

Tomas nodded as Harry started to walk out of the room, knowing that Tomas would do what he'd been told to do.

"Dad." Tomas called as they reached the front door. Harry turned. "Please be careful. Remember, apparating with an unresponsive adult can be dangerous."

"We'll be fine, Tomas. I promise," he assured the boy. Harry tried to smile, but all he managed was a sort of tight-lipped, slightly-upturned grimace. He didn't really know what else to say to assure Tomas. He knew Tomas knew otherwise, but still he turned away from the boy and walked out of the apartment with Ginny in his arms.

Tomas followed them out into the hallway. They couldn't apparate inside the flat; Harry had made sure of that, for protection. Reaching the correct distance from his flat, Harry concentrated as hard as he could, tightening his grip around Ginny. He turned on the spot, and disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Tomas behind to wait on mother nature.

Harry landed with unsteady feet on hard ground. He fell backwards, and with no way to brace himself, his head hit the tiled-floor of the emergency room, with a sickening crack.

"Someone help me!" he called, trying to ignore the pain spreading across his skull. He stood up, adjusting his grip on Ginny and turned, looking for help.

A male nurse, and a young female healer, rushed over, going to their aid. Harry was staring to feel lightheaded, a nauseating feeling spreading, building up. He tried to ignore the pain and the blurring of his vision. There was something thick and warm dripping down the back of his neck. The nurse caught Ginny just as Harry toppled forward giving into the weakness and nausea. Someone else—he wasn't sure who— grabbed Harry, supporting Harry as his legs gave out. He was lowered onto a gurney as blurs of people flocked around them.

"I'm fine," Harry protested. "Help her. She's burning up, she was out in the storm for a long time," he said, his words slurring as he tried to sit up, but he couldn't, strong hands pushed him back down. He fell the world turn around him as he fell back into the gurney. Soon, they had him down, and he was being rushed across the emergency room.

"They'll take care of her, sir. You opened your head pretty bad when you fell. We need to stop the bleeding," someone was saying to her, it was a woman. She flashed a light in his eyes, as he continued to struggle, trying to get up, trying to go to Ginny. "Calm down, sir, she's being taken care of, if you don't lay still, we'll have to restrain you," the woman said.

"She's, she's—" he said groggily, finally giving up and falling back onto the hard mat of the gurney. Stars were starting to appear in front of his eyes. Everything was getting darker. Words just seemed to drip without form out of his mouth like soggy mud. "Ginny," he whispered before he fell unconscious.

"You'll be fine." Was the last thing he heard in the dark, then nothing. There was just dark. Just Ginny in his mind. Just Charlie. Just Tomas.


	12. Chapter 12: St Mungus

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _NOTE: As a reminder, this story is canon for books 1 though 6, since I wrote most of this before Deathly Hallows was released. Thank you, and enjoy._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE: THE RETURN**

First he heard the beeping. It was an insistent annoying thing, that invaded his consciousness, disturbing his sleep. Little by little, other noises made their way to him. Scuffling, a door being lightly shut, the soft voices of two people talking nearby.

"When did he show up?" a woman asked lowly.

"According to Hermione, it could have been weeks or months, we're not sure," a man answered.

"And the boy?" the woman asked.

"Tomas. I'm not sure. He was so upset when we got here, that I didn't think it was the right time to ask."

"Yes of course. Poor dear," the woman answered with a sigh. There was a moment of silence, before the man spoke again, his words a question.

"He's too old to be his son though. Don't you think? I mean—" he stopped in the middle of his sentenced as Harry—finally awake enough to do something more than lay there trying to force his heavy eyes open—spoke.

"Ginny." The name was a rasping whisper. His throat was dry and speaking made it burn. The effort had brought on a painful cough. He didn't care though, he would take the pain. He needed to know if Ginny was alright. The room had gone quiet, the two people in the room had stopped talking. He heard the patter of feet walking towards him.

"Here you go, dear," the woman said, and a straw was brought to his lips. He drank, and after a moment, the coughing subsided. He laid there taking steady breaths, in and out, one after the other.

"Harry?" the woman asked after a moment, she leaning forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, dear?"

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw the blurred image of red hair. "Molly?" he said, trying to focus on the woman's face.

"Here you go," she said to him, handing him his glasses. "They broke when you fell, but I fixed them," she said as Harry slid them on. He blinked a couple of times, and then looked again, and saw for the first time in years, the worried motherly face of Molly Weasley, looking down at him. He could have cried, looking at her. A person who had loved him like she did her own children. Who—during his yearly, summer visits—had made sure he was well fed, and that his clothes were clean and mended. Molly had cried when he'd made his way to them after the battle at Hogwarts, she'd held him close to her, so happy, so relieved that he'd survived. And when him and Ginny had gotten engaged a couple of months later, she'd been the first to send him an owl, telling him that finally he would truly be her son.

"Would you go get the healer, Ron," Molly said breaking the moment of silence that had followed their reunion. She'd turned her head to speak to the person behind her. Harry followed her line of sight, and saw the man standing behind her, Ron.

Ron, his friend, his brother. His red hair was a mess, and he had half-a-day's worth of stubble on his face. Fourteen years had passed, and he'd gotten older, just like Harry had. Yet, Harry could still see he was the same boy he'd been, when they'd met that first day on the Hogwarts Express, more than two decades before. Here were those same curious, blue eyes that had bore into him, like they did now. Those eyes that had looked at him, trying to decipher him like some secret code. He could remember him still, a little boy of eleven, new like him. He'd been all gangly limbs, and knobbly knees, awkward and a little scared by the prospect of the adventure that would be Hogwarts.

They'd been so different, yet somehow the same, and from that very first moment, they'd connected. They'd shared Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans, and Chocolate Frogs, and they'd traded wizard cards. Yet, Harry had abandoned him, his brother. He'd left him without any kind of explanation, they way he'd left Ginny, the way he'd left Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley, and everyone else.

Ron was staring at Harry as Harry looked up at him. Was he happy to see him again? Yes, most likely. Relieved? Definitely. He knew him—or he'd known him—well enough, to see all that in the look he was giving him at that moment. He also saw, however, the resentment, the lingering anger, but even worse, the fear that he'd be hurt again if allowed himself to care again.

"Ronald," Molly said sharply. Ron blinked, and turned to his mother startled.

"Yes? Oh. yes, mum, of course," he said with a little shake of the head, before he turned away and walked out to do what he'd been told.

Harry closed his eyes, and Molly—who seeming to know he needed this moment to absorb it all—said nothing. A moment later he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was digging through her handbag, searching in it until she pulled out a green, flower-patterned handkerchief. She turned a little, and dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide it from him.

She turned back to him, her eyes red. She'd been crying. She smiled down at him and reached a hand to fix hair, he just looked at her.

The door opened and both Molly and Harry looked up. It was Ron, followed by a middle-aged man in lime-green robes.

Molly moved out of the way as the man approached, and went to stand next to her son, who'd stopped some feet behind the healer.

"Mr. Potter," the man said, when he reached his bedside. Harry didn't answer. "Mr. Potter?" the healer said again.

"Yes," Harry finally answered, taking a deep breath, acknowledging the healer at last. He'd been been staring at Ron, who now seemed unable to look Harry in the eyes, when moments before, he'd done nothing but stare.

He'd turned his full attention to the healer, taking him in. The man was short, with a long nose and thin lips. He had dark, olive tones skin, graying black hair, that was starting to thin, and dark eyes. On his left wrist, he had shinny, silver wristwatch. His tag read 'Emanuel Morgan M.H'.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" Healer Morgan asked.

"I'm having a wonderful headache, but besides that, just tired," Harry answered.

"It's to be expected. I wouldn't worry to much about that. I'm just going to take a look, to make sure everything is going well," the healer said. He leaned over Harry to inspect the back of his head. Harry hissed at the slight prodding from Healer Morgan. "Sorry about that," the healer said.

There was a couple of minutes of pain, as Healer Morgan inspected the injury at the back of his head. He rubbed a purple, minty-smelling, ointment on the back of Harry's head, before he re-bandaged it.

"It healed well," Healer Morgan said, once he was done. "Just a couple more treatments with the healing ointment, and it should be completely healed. As for the headache, I'll just give you a pain potion for them, and they should subside by this week's end." Harry nodded.

Healer Morgan pulled a quill and pad from his pocket, and looked up at Harry. "So, Mr. Potter. I have to ask you a series questions. Its proper procedure after a concussion, and loss of consciousness. It's just to make sure your mental faculties are in full working order," he said.

"Alright," Harry said. He didn't really want to, but he didn't really think he had a choice, so what else could he say?

"Can you tell me what year it is?" Healer Morgan asked. Harry answered. Healer Morgan smiled, and noted the answer on his pad. "Good, very good. Now, what's your full name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Very good, Mr. Potter. Now, can you tell me what country we are in?" he asked.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the headache was getting worse, and thinking wasn't doing it any favors.

"England," he answered at last.

"Good. And last, can you tell us who is our current Minister?" he asked.

"Ginny," Harry said, suddenly remembering why he'd ended up in this bed to begin with, being asked idiotic questions, by this healer.

"No, Mr. Potter. Please try again," the man said, as he wrote something in his note pad.

"Oh no, Healer Morgan," Molly said stepping up, "that's my Daughter. She's the young woman he brought with him." She explained, and then leaned over to speak to Harry. "She's better, dear. Resting now."

"Oh, okay," Healer Morgan said. "So, Mr. Potter, can you tell us, who is our Minister?" Harry thought for a moment, and remembering what he was supposed to answer, he spoke

"Fredrik Dolen. Met him once, didn't like him," Harry answered. Every word he said hurt, and he was starting to have a hard time keeping his eyes open. They felt like they were full with led, and keeping them open seemed next to impossible.

Who cared who the Minister was. From what he'd heard, the man was a prat, like most. When they'd met three years before, he had of course treated Harry politely, but he'd seen right through him.

Finally, tired, and unable to keep his eyes opened, he closed them.

"I don't think many do," Healer Morgan joked. Harry heard the scratching of quill on paper. Harry blinked his eyes opened again, and looked up at the healer, who had turned away from him, note pad and quill gone, to face Mrs. Weasley and Ron.

"He'll be fine," the healer told Molly. "He'll sleep for a few more hours while the healing ointment does its job. The sleep will also help build up his energies. His head will clear up completely by morning," the man said, before turning to look at Harry, his eyes moving up to the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. Everyone did it, Harry was used to it, he just ignored it. It seemed however, that Molly would have no such thing. She cleared her throat, and motioned with her head. Ron understood and nodded slightly.

"Thank you, Healer Morgan," Ron said, stepping forward. He put a hand on the healer's shoulder and turned him, guiding him towards the door. "Also, we would appreciate it if you could keep the identity of Mr. Potter here, a secret as long as possible," he added.

"Oh, yes, of course," the man said.

Ron pushed the healer out into the hallway, and closed the door before the healer had time to say anything else. He turned to his mother with that look that said it'd been an empty promise. Even Healer Morgan knew that it was just a matter of hours, before all of England knew Harry Potter was back. Not to mention, the whole Hospital was already whispering about it.

ooooo

 **~ 15 YEARS BEFORE ~**

 _"Harry, wait for the signal. Once I kill the snake, it will be your turn," Lupin whispered crouching next to him. "For some reason, he doesn't know you're here. We can't risk you, not before you can finish this."_

 _"Don't do it, Remus. This is stupid, it's ridiculous, not to mention dangerous. You don't have to risk—"_

 _"—I know, and I'm sorry. You know I have to. My life is not as important as yours is at this moment. This is war, Harry, remember that. I know it's hard to hear, but sometimes a man must die when surviving is not an option, and death is the only way to triumph. We must triumph, Harry, we must"_

 _"You're wrong, death should be inevitable."_

 _"Sometimes, but sometimes death should be a choice. I'm sorry about all this. I'm sorry that I too must leave you… all of you," Lupin said, putting a hand to Harry's face. "Watch over them, won't you Harry?" he asked him, and then, before Harry could do more than blink, Lupin had ran out from behind their hiding place. Harry reached for him, trying to grab at Lupin's robes, but couldn't stop the man._

 _He heard Lupin scream his spell. He heard the answer of a gruff voice screaming it's own spell. Then there was a scream, and the thump of a body on the ground._

 _"Now, Harry!" Lupin screamed._

 _Harry pointed his wand ahead, took a deep breath, and ran out._

ooooo

"Remus!" He woke up gasping for air, sitting up, reaching for the ghost of his long-lost friend.

Someone was at his side in a moment, holding him down. He was speaking to him, repeating something over and over again, as he held him down, but Harry heard nothing. He was grasping at his chest, his face, red, tight, his teeth gritted, his expression pained. His eyes were staring into the distance at something that only he could see.

"Look at me…look at me goddammit!" The person screamed, and Harry finally heard. Harry's eyes snapped up, and they met the panicked, wide eyes of a teenage boy. It took a moment, for Harry to realized who was there with him, but he finally did, and he stopped fighting him off.

"Tomas?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're fine, okay. Just breath," Tomas said, taking deep, even breaths to show harry what he meant. Harry nodded, and took steady breaths, calming down. Tomas sighed with relieve. "I'll get the Healer," the boy said after a moment. He took a step back, but Harry grabbed him by the arm, stopping him.

"No, I'm fine," Harry told him. "It was just a nightmare," he explained, trying to reassure the boy. Tomas didn't look too convinced, but still he nodded. Harry let go off Tomas' arm, and let out a long breath, and allowed Tomas to help him back down, onto the pillow. Tomas backed away, and grabbed a chair from the other side of the room, he moved it to Harry's bedside, and sat down, looking at Harry with that still-to-worried look.

"They know then?" Harry asked once Tomas was settled on the chair at his side.

"Yeah," Tomas said, reaching over to the side table, and grabbing a copy of that afternoon's Daily Prophet, and dropping it on the bed next to him. Harry picked it up, and read the headline on the front page:

 _ **THE RETURN OF MR. POTTER—THE BOY-WHO-LIVED.**_

"I was asking if the Weasleys knew, but I guess this more than answers that question," Harry said tossing the paper aside. "Dammit, bloody hell—We won't have a moment of peace now," he said. "I did this. I did this to us," Harry said.

"Hey... _hey_ ," Tomas said, reaching for Harry's hand, taking it, squeezing it, Harry squeezed back. "We'll be fine. We're always fine. You and me, we'll get through this as long as we have each other, right?" Harry turned to face him, and nodded, smiling at Tomas, Tomas smiled back.

"You're a good lad, you know that, don't you?" Harry said, patting Tomas' cheek. Tomas laughed and pushed Harry's hand away, and leaned back into the plastic chair.

"Yeah, yeah," he said rolling his eyes, "I'm good until I do something that annoys you." They laughed.

After a moment, the smile faded from Tomas lips. He looked down at his hands. He was fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He cleared his throat, and bit his lip. What he wanted to say, Harry knew he wouldn't say, for Harry's peace of mind.

"I'm sorry for what I did," Harry said. Tomas let out a long breath and looked up to meet Harry's eyes.

"Don't be," Tomas said. "you did what you had to do, to make sure Ginny got the help she needed. I understand."

"I know you do, but still, I should have planned things better. I should have thought of the implications. Of what would happen to you if I got hurt. Of how you would feel." Tomas didn't answer, instead he looked back down at his hands, and nodded. Harry knew that his apology had been accepted. Even though Tomas would have asked for it, Harry needed to do it. To reassure the boy he wouldn't make him feel so helpless ever again, not if he could help it.

"How's Ginny?" Harry said after a moment. Tomas looked up from his hands again, glad—Harry saw—at having someone else to talk about besides himself.

"She woke up a while ago," Tomas said. "I sneaked pass that husband of hers, to see her. It seems like he didn't let anyone tell her you were here—you know, with a head open and in a hospital bed."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, probably along the lines of, Alan Summers is a twat, but Tomas stopped him with a raised hand. "It's fine. She was worried, but I told her what happened, and I assured her you were well, and in no real danger. That seemed to have appeased her." Harry nodded, taking it all in, and Tomas continued. "Anyhow, according to her chart, they were able to manage the fever, and the hypothermia. She'll need to be on bed rest for while, take some potions to strengthen her lungs, but she's fine," the boy informed him.

"You read her chart?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Tomas gave him a look that told him he shouldn't even have asked. Harry laughed a little,"Of course you did. Thank you for that." Tomas nodded.

"How long will she be here for?" he asked.

It took Tomas a moment to answer. "He took her home an hour ago." Tomas noticed how Harry's face tightened. "I chatted up a healer, she said as long as she takes her potions, and stays in bed, she'll be fine." Harry didn't answer, but there was a twitch to his face that told Tomas he wasn't happy, not at all.

Harry turned his head away from Tomas, and looked out the window. It was night already. When he'd woken up before—when Molly and Ron had been there—it had been a little past noon. He'd seen the time on Healer Morgan's wristwatch. He'd slept all day, it seemed. Not that it mattered really. "When can I get out of here?" he asked, still looking out the window.

"Healer Morgan said in the morning," Tomas answered. "But, well...there's been a slight change of plans," the boy added a little skeptically.

Harry turned away from the window to look at Tomas. There was a small, crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling. It was a tell. A look he'd donned since he'd been a little boy. A look that told Harry the boy was up to some sort of mischief.

"What have you done now, boy?"

"Well, me and some of those Weasley blokes are going to sneak you out tonight," Tomas confessed. "We thought it'd be a bad idea to wait until tomorrow. You know, with the article and all. They're getting their hands on some orderly robes and a gurney. We're gonna take you out as if you were some random, dead bloke," he explained.

"I see. And was this marvelous plan your idea?" Harry asked.

"Somewhat, not all. So, are you up for it then?" Tomas asked, standing up.

"Definitely. I rather play dead than wait around for that circus in the morning. If Ginny is not here any longer, I see no reason to stay here any longer."

"Let's get you dressed then, they'll be here soon," Tomas said. Harry nodded.

ooooo

Harry was dressed and ready in a matter of minutes. They waited, Tomas jumping on the balls of his feet, looking excited by the prospect of _Operation Extraction_ , as he'd called it. Finally, the door opened and in walked Fred and George Weasley. They both wore gray orderly robes. Fred pushed a gurney through the door, and Gorge stuck his head back out, looked up and down the hallways and then closed the door behind them both.

Fred and George stared at Harry and Harry stared at them, and Tomas stood out of the way staring at them all in turn. The room was so quiet, a pin drop could have been heard. Harry was ready for anything, for some questions, maybe some angry glares, or possibly a punch to the face.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat and spoke. "Fred, George," he said, nodding his head to each twin as he said their names. Harry swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbled up and down on his throat.

Finally, Fred laughed out, startling Harry. The twin smiled widely, and moved forward, arms wide opened, taking Harry into a tight, bear hug, lifting him a little of the ground.

"Careful," Harry hissed.

"Careful-schmellful. Look at you, you handsome git," Fred said, taking a step back to take a look at Harry. "You got old, Potter," he said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and looked Fred up and down. "Look who's talking," he said with a slight smile. Fred feigned offense with a dramatic hand to the chest.

"Get out my way you dope, its my turn," George said, pushing his twin out of the way. "Harry, you wanker," George said, taking Harry into a more delicate hug, patting him on the back. "So, you finally deemed us worthy of your holy presence, huh?" he said, stepping away, a closed-lip smile on his lips.

"It would seem so," Harry answered. Even if the twins had questions—which they sure would—For now, it seemed as if those questions could wait. At that moment, they seemed honestly happy to see him again, and to Harry, that meant the world.

"So, I heard we have a plan to spring me from this joint," Harry said, once George let go of him.

"Indeed," answered Fred.

"It seems a Mr..." George said, looking down at a charter he held, Harry raised an eyebrow. Were the hell had they gotten a medical chart? "...Eustace Woodwinkle?" George said, looking over at his twin with a questioning look. "Is this your doing?" he asked not being able to hold in the laugh.

A look of extreme satisfaction came over Fred's face as he spoke. "Yeah, isn't great?"

"Oh, its something alright," George said, shaking his head, and turning back to Harry. "Anyhow. You Mr. Woodwinkle, are being transported to the morgue. So if you wouldn't mind, please get on the moving bed, and cover your dead arse." Harry did as he was told, and got onto the gurney, and they covered him from face-to-toe with a thin, white sheet.

"What now?" Harry said through the sheet.

"Shush," one of the twins said, flicking him on the forehead.

"Ow!"

"Dead men don't ask questions," the twin answered.

"I'm going to check if the coast is clear," he heard Tomas say. Harry heard the door open and close. A few moments passed, and he heard nothing, then he felt someone leaning down close to him.

"Glad you're back, Harry, but we still have business to discus," one of the twins said in a whisper. Fred, Harry thought.

"Our sister, for starters," the other twin, George, added.

"No hard feelings, you understand, mate," Fred continued. "Just doing our duty as big brothers," he added.

"No one's in the hall," Tomas called from the door.

"Right," Fred said, then Harry felt himself being rolled out.

"Remember, Potter, the dead don't move, or talk," Gorge whispered as they exited the room.

"Or do much of anything really," Fred added.

They pushed him down the hallway towards the lift. People asked what had happened, and both men had given random explanations for the dead man they pushed.

"Dragon Pox."

"Experimenting with livestock."

"Poison Gurdish," he heard Fred say at one point.

"Deadly stuff, poor bloke never had a chance," George continued. As far as Harry knew, there was no such thing as Poison Gurdish, but people still made noises of feigned understanding.

After what seemed like an eternity of being rolled around like a corpse in a gurney—listening to the twins, and Tomas, give more and more extravagant responses as why he had died—He finally felt himself riding down the lift, and then with just a little bit more rolling, he felt himself being pushed through swinging doors, and then the sheet was lifted off of him.

"Dad got this fireplace secured to the Floo Network," Fred said, helping Harry stand up. "Bloke from the Floo Network Authority owes him a big favor."

"Yeah, got him out of some trouble a few years back, involving chickens and muggle explosives—no chickens were harmed of course, but they did take a bit of a flight," George finished.

Harry nodded and stepped into the morgue's fireplace. "Go to King's Manor," Fred offering him a small pouch of floo powder, he'd produced from an inside pocket.

"Were?" Harry said, taking a pinch of the powder.

"King's Ma-nor," George enunciated as if he were a particularly dim child. "We'll meet you there," he added.

Harry called out the location, and dropped the floo powder. The warm, green fire sprang up, pulling him into the twirling vortex of the Floo Network.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Decided to post a few this week seeing as it was a while since I last poster anything. Its a chapter I enjoyed, thought the bit of humor from the Weasley boys lightened the otherwise dark atmosphere of the chapter._

 _Once again, hope you liked it. Stay tuned for more to follow from INCOMPLETE._

 _Thank you very much,_

 _Brenda G._


	13. Chapter 13: Hello

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _NOTE: here's a short one for you. Enjoy._

* * *

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HELLO**

He landed on his feet, but barely. He stumbled forward reaching out, reading himself for the impact, but someone grabbed him just in time, steadying him.

Harry opened his eyes and focused on the person standing beside him. It was Ron who had caught him, who now had a tight grip on his upper arm. "Can you stand alone?" Ron asked, his face unreadable.

"Yes, I can. Thank you," Harry answered, pushing himself up straight a little embarrassed. It had been years since he had fallen getting out the other end, while flooing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked up to Hermione who was standing a few feet away, in front of him.

Ron released Harry, and the second he did, Harry knew he'd been wrong about being able to stand on his own two feet. He was weaker than he'd thought, and it was evident the second Ron had let go. His legs gave out, and he stumbled forward, this time Ron hadn't been fast enough. Harry fell, his knees hitting the hardwood floors painfully, the impact sending shots of sharp pain across both his knees. He cried out in pain, unable to hold it in.

He'd barely hit the floor, when Harry felt a hand under his arms, "I got you," Ron said, pulling him back onto a sitting position.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Hermione had rushed over. She was crouching in front of him, her eyes wide.

"Just my pride," Harry grunted through gritted teeth.

"Well, let's get you up," Ron said. "Put your arm around my shoulders." Harry nodded, and slung his left arm across Ron's shoulders.

"Let me help," Hermione said, as she grabbed him by the other arm. Together, Ron and Hermione lifted Harry up to his feet. With some difficulty, the pain on his knees fresh, they gingerly walked him a few feet to a brown, leather wing chair. One of the two that sat in front of their fireplace.

They released him, and backed away, giving him some room to breath. He took a couple of breaths, calming himself. He sat quietly for a few moments, just breathing, thinking. The pain on his knees was subsiding, he'd get over it soon enough. If all he had to deal with was physical pain, he'd be alright. But here were two of his best friends, standing before him. The two friends who were helping out by allowing him into their home, even after everything he'd done to them. He could only look miserable and in pain for so long, so finally, he looked up to face them.

Ron was still standing the closet, right in front of him, hands at his sides. He was looking him over, as if waiting for Harry to topple over, but still avoiding his gaze. Hermione had a light hand on Ron's shoulder, she was looking between Harry and her husband, biting her bottom lip slightly. She was obviously nervous about this encounter between Harry and Ron. Ron had always been hot headed, he'd never turned away from a fight. He'd never let anything stop him from speaking out when he thought someone needed help, or when he thought a wrong had been done to him, or those he loved. The problem here however, was that Harry himself was someone he loved, and Ron, Ron seemed unable to separate his emotions at the moment.

"Hey," Harry said finally, and Ron cleared his throat startled, as if suddenly realizing he was standing in the same room with Harry Potter.

"Hi," Ron answered, finally looking him straight in the eyes.

"Is this your house?" Harry asked. He didn't know what to say, but at that moment, anything seemed better than the silence.

"Yes," Ron answered.

What else could he say? God, he was nervous. He'd never had trouble speaking to Ron, not even when they had just met as children. He could ask him about his job, or their children, he guessed. He knew that they had two or three children, but he didn't know if they were boys or girls, or how old they were. He could talk about the weather, or the latest Quidditch news, but those seemed like obvious avoidance topic. He was saved, however, of having to come up with anything to talk about, when Hermione spoke.

"We have a room ready for you," she told him, taking a step forward, "and one for Tomas. If you'd like to rest now, we can help you upstairs," Hermione told him.

"That's very kind of you, thank you, but I think it would be better if we went home," he told her.

"That might not be the best of ideas," Hermione said.

"I'll be fine. Tomas can take care of anything we need. He's a resourceful lad," he told her.

"I'm sure that's true," Hermione said, "but that's not it."

"Someone followed Tomas to your flat today," Ron said. "The place is now overrun by reporters, and all manner of nutters. You'll be ambushed the second you set a foot there. Tomas said you wouldn't want to go back there after that." Harry didn't say anything, so Ron continued. "Bill, Fred, and I went with him this afternoon, and we removed all of your belongings, put them in one of the garages here, and then I settled the rent with the landlord."

"I see," Harry said. His face strained, and his brow tightened. His hands had become fists. He lowered his head, shutting his eyes tight. It took him a moment, just a minute to calm down, and Hermione and Ron left him to it. When finally, he felt calm enough to speak again, he looked back up. "Thank you for that," he told Ron. "And Tomas was right, I wouldn't want to go back there." He sighed, "I'll pay you back of course, as soon as I can get an owl to Gringotts. I'll send Tomas to rent a storage unit in the morning, and I'll have our things out of your garage. We'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

"Its okay, Harry," Hermione said, since Ron seemed unable to say anything in response. "You and Tomas can stay here until you find somewhere safe to live. You need some calm, Tomas needs some calm. Speaking of," she said, as laughing voices made their way into the sitting room.

Harry looked up as George, Fred and Tomas appeared in the room, laughing.

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked, as they started to smile at each other, and then holding their laughs in George spoke.

"Bloke we told about the Poison Gurdish, turned out to be a healer's apprentice. Nice kid by the name of Orion Delvir. He came down to the morgue to find out what a person affected by Gurdish looked like."

"What's—?" Hermione had started.

"Tomas here, " Fred said, pointing at the laughing boy standing next to him. "Started blubbering, threw himself over some poor soul's body, and started crying that his father wasn't an experiment." At that, the twins started laughing, Tomas with them.

For a moment, everything that had happened wasn't all that bad, not when Tomas could still smile. For Harry, seeing the boy smile, was more than enough to allow all the anger he'd felt moments before, completely slip away.


	14. Chapter 14: King's Manor

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _NOTE: If you read chapter 13 on 6/15/, I accidentally uploaded the unedited version. On 6/16/2016 at 7pm, I uploaded the correct edited chapter. Its not very long, the same event still takes place, but it flows better, and sounds nicer. There's also more extra feels. :)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN: KING'S MANOR**

 _ **~ 14 YEARS BEFORE ~**_

 _She was laughing. All that had ever mattered to him in this world was that she was safe, and happy—and watching her smile, was like letting everything that was good in this world into his soul._

 _He wanted to run to her, tell her he loved her. Tell her that nothing mattered in this world but her. He wished he could, but he had to go, and the longer he waited the harder it would be._

 _That he couldn't say goodbye to her, that he couldn't kiss her, or tell her he loved her. Tell her that because of her, he'd finally found a place to call home_ _—_ _was breaking his heart._

 _He knew she would never forgive him for betraying her, for betraying their love, for leaving her all alone. Still, he had to go. There was no other way, he had no choice._

 _But she was smiling, and if he had to go, if he had to leave her behind; that was the goodbye he needed. Seeing her smile one last time, gave him the strength to turn around, pick up his duffel bag, swing it's strap across his shoulder, grab his Firebolt, and walk away._

ooooo

"Can you kill giants?" A curious voice asked as Harry blinked his eyes open, waking up.

"What?" he asked drowsily, reaching for his glasses on the side table, and putting them on. He turned back, and saw a boy of about eleven or twelve, standing by the bed.

"Can you kill giants?" the boy repeated his question. "I'm only asking because Billy Edison told me you've killed hundreds of giants," he said, skepticism in his voice. Harry cleared his throat to answer, but the boy had started talking again. "Then again, Billy tends to exaggerate things. And on second thought, I don't think there were that many giants left during the final battle."

"Well," Harry said sitting up in bed, still a little dazed from his dream. "I helped, but there weren't a hundred. Billy _was_ exaggerating. There were only about five or six of them there," he explained.

Looking at the boy, he knew he was looking at Hermione and Ron's son. He had brown wavy hair, that stood up on one end, as if he'd been passing his hands through it. He also had a freckled face, and blue eyes, the same shade as Ron's.

The boy smiled, and the side of Harry's mouth quirked up a bit. He was no stranger to answering the questions of an inquisitive boy. Tomas himself had not gone one day in his childhood, were he didn't ask Harry about the war, or anything else. Still, at sixteen, Tomas had a hundred questions. Nowadays, however, he tended to find the answers on his own.

"Really? Wow, that's a lot—well, for giants, you know," the boy said. "I also heard you flew around on a dragon and burned down like a thousand Death Eaters, but a thousand sounds like too much now that I think about it." Harry smiled, amused.

From what he remembered, he had barely spent a minute on the Green Welsh's back. He had been thrown off his broom by a Death Eater's hex, and the dragon—which had been brought by Charlie from Romania, along with two more battle trained dragons—happened to have been flying under Harry at the time. The dragon, had tilted his flight up, and Harry had summoned his broom back to him and flown off the beast's back in less than a minute.

Riding a dragon wasn't exactly what he'd done. More like held onto a dragon, while the dragon did what ever it was that it was doing.

"A little ride, yes, and there definitely weren't a thousand death eaters there, more like a hundred," he answered. "So, were are your parents, uhm..?" Harry realized he didn't know the boys name.

"Dwight," the boy said. "Mum's showing your son some of her books and scrolls on Pompeii, and dad had to go into the office really fast, to pick up some paperwork. Do you want breakfast? I already ate with mum, but I'll sit with you, I wouldn't mind hearing more."

"Alright, yes, that would be great. But I think I should shower first,"

"Right," Dwight said with a little jump, turning around and walking to what Harry now recognized as his trunk, across the room, by a door to the bathroom. "Mum had this brought up for you," Dwight said, pointing to the trunk."I'll wait in my room. It's the one two doors down, that way," he said, pointing towards the right, and then he turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him.

ooooo

Harry was showered and dressed ten minuted later. He exited the room, pushing his wet hair back, as he looked left and right, down a long hallway.

To the left there were three doors, one on each side of the hallway, and one at the end of it. To the right, on the left side, there was the banister that opened up to the foyer, and then another door, past the stairs. To the right of the banister, there were two more doors, and then another door at the far end of that hallway.

Big house, he thought. Of course it was to be expected. He'd looked into his friends over the years, and he knew that Ron hadn't done so bad for himself. Last he'd heard, Ron was Junior Head of the Foreign Affairs and Sports Department, and Hermione, an accomplished, and successful historian, and author.

He started to walk down the hallway, towards the stairs. He could hear rambunctious, laughing, and giggling from one of the rooms, further down the hallway, but he stopped at the second door from his, which was opened.

He looked in, and saw Dwight sitting, with his legs up, on a comfortable looking, green sofa, which sat under a large window. He had a large book in his hands, which he was very intent in reading, while he passed his left hand through his hair, making it stand up on its ends. He smiled, he'd seen Ron do that before.

Harry knocked, on the door jamb, and Dwight looked up, he smiled, and put the book down, standing up.

"Hey," Harry said, with a smile, the boy smiled back.

"You're ready, good. Come on," Dwight told him as he reached the door, "I'll take you to the kitchen."

"I thought it was you, making all that noise," Harry said, as Dwight stepped out of his room.

"No, that would be my brothers." Dwight rolled his eyes at this, as if he disproved, "Do you want to meet them?" He said tentatively, stopping at the door next to his, which now, Harry noticed, was the one were all the commotion was coming from.

"Sure."

"They're probably playing with Tweeny," Dwight informed him, reaching for the doorknob.

"Tweeny?" Harry asked.

"Our elf," Dwight answered.

"You have a house-elf? I would have never thought that of Hermione," Harry said, remembering Hermione's house-elf rights campaign, which had given way to the birth of SPEW. An organization to which Ron and Harry had _volunteered_ their membership to.

Dwight had only opened the door a little, but he held it there, turning to look at Harry.

"Mum won't let us call her a _house_ -elf," he started telling him, lowering his voice as he did, "and she pays her and gives her weekends off. But Tweeny gives my brothers, and I the gold mum gives her. I save all the gold and buy her things, like socks and dresses, and toys. I tell her I find the gifts in the trash, so she won't think I'm paying her. She also sneaks back into the house on her days off when mum's not looking, to do the twin's chores." Again the boy shook his head disapprovingly. "You know, the only order mum ever gave her, was that she wasn't allowed to punish herself." Dwight smiled. Done with the conversation, he turned back to the door, and opened it completely, revealing the room, and the people inside it.

There were two small, red-headed boys inside. One was on the ground, being tickled by a very small, pink-faced elf, who wore a little, yellow sundress, with a pattern of white daisies on it. The other boy stood nearby, egging them on, and laughing, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Tickle wars," Dwight whispered, as both Harry and he, watched the spectacle from the door.

"Master, Dwight," the House-elf suddenly squeaked, catching her breath as she stood up.

"Hey, Tweeny," Dwight said. Tweeny bowed, and then she turned her big, round, gray eyes to Harry. She looked at him, and then her eyes veered to his forehead, and they became big, great saucers when she realized who he was.

"Harry Potter, sir," she said, her voice a nervous squeak, "what a pleasure it is to meet you. Tweeny heard of you from her father, Feeny, a proud servant of Hogwarts," she said, bending over until her nose scratched the floor.

Hearing the name, Harry remembered those gray eyes clearly now, Feeny. He and his mate Lulu, had been kitchen elves, in Hogwarts, both of them had died during the battle.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Tweeny," he said.

He'd grieved the death of the little creatures, of all the ones who had died fighting at Hogwarts. But he'd never thought about their young being left orphaned, like Harry, himself had been left orphaned by another war.

"So who are these two?" Harry asked, changing the subject, and looking at the boys next to the elf, both of which were the spitting image of Ron himself.

The boys were obviously twins, about six or seven years old. They were double the trouble, as Mrs. Weasley had said about her own twin boys, with the only thing setting them apart from each other, being the color of their eyes. One boy had Ron's sparkling blue eyes, and the other, Hermione's deep smooth brown ones. They wore different colored t-shirts, with cartoon characters printed on them. They also wore khaki colored cargo pants, and blue sneakers on their feet.

"Oh, yeah…. that's Stanley, " Dwight said pointing at the little, blue-eyed boy, "and that's Kyle." He pointed at the brown-eyed child. "This is Harry Potter," he told the small children. "Mum, and dad's friend from Hogwarts."

Both children were smiling widely. They had probably heard plenty about him in their lives. Amazing stories of his earlier exploits, and his defeat over Voldemort and his dark army. Or even the over-dramatized stories of flying a dragon, and burning down thousands of Death Eaters, and killing a hundred giants with his bare hands.

"Wow," the boy, who Harry now recognized as Stanley, said standing up. "You fought off Voldemort," he said, mimicking a wand in combat. Harry was glad, that Ron and Hermione's children were not even fazed by the name of Voldemort.

"Yeah," the other boy, Kyle, said as he too stood up, "you got him," he said, mimicking a wand himself, and doing a make believe fight with his twin brother. "Took him out with one shot."

Stanley flicked his invisible wand, and Kyle dropped backwards, his tongue lolling out, his eyes rolling back, and his body twitching. Stanley now stood with an exaggerated grin. He'd put one food up on a toy truck, with one hand on his hip, and the other doing a weird sort of royal wave. It was the sort of thing Gilderoy Lockhart would have done, had he actually defeated anyone or anything.

" _Thank you, thank you_ ," Stanley said with a pompous accent, faking modesty, as he waved at an invisible crowd. Harry laughed a little as he watched one boy wave and the other lay on the floor, his tongue out, making gurgling noises, and spasming.

"Where's mum?" Kyle asked after a moment, sitting up, his brother still waiving, and smiling at his invisible crowd.

"In the King, but you know mum doesn't want you down there," Dwight reminded his little brother.

"But she promised to read to us," Stanley said, finally stopping his pose and wave.

"Well, you'll have to wait," Dwight told them.

"Come on, Dwight. We'll just go down a _little_ , so we can call to her." Kyle grinned a little too widely when he said this. An obvious lie if Harry had ever heard one.

"You can't, you know she won't like it. Remember last time?" Dwight frowned at his brother; the small boy shivered a little, probably remembering the punishment he'd received for entering, what ever it was that the King was.

"What's the King?" Harry finally asked.

"Mum's library, and study. Its very big, as big as the house. Well, under the house. _I'm_ allowed down there, but only on the first level down, and only to read _appropriate_ books." The boy snorted, as if the idea that any book could be considered inappropriate was preposterous. He was definitely Hermione's son.

"Why is it called the king?" Harry asked.

Dwight laughed out. "That was dad's doing. According to him, its made for a king, because its so large, you see, and so it's called the King. And then mum said that since Weasley _was_ the king, that the house would be called King's Manor." Harry laughed, remembering Ron's Quidditch adventures, and the outcome of his first game as keeper for the house team back in Hogwarts, which at the end of it, had him on the shoulders of the Gryffindors chanting out "Weasley is our King," over and over again.

"Sounds like Ron, and Hermione, alright," Harry said with a smiled

"Yeah, mum loves her books and scrolls. Anyhow, Stanley and Kyle aren't allowed down there on their own. It's their fault really, last time they made a mess with a bunch of scrolls." He gave his brothers a poignant look, and both boys looked down, as if they might be ashamed. But they weren't, Harry noticed, sine their mouths were set in identical, naughty, little smiles. "It took mum like two hours to put everything back in order," he told Harry, frowning again. "Oh, so breakfast?" Dwight said, remembering his initial offer.

At the mention of housework, Tweeny, who'd been kneeling over a toy chest, putting toys away, shot to her feet, ears perked up, ready to make a feast at the snapping of Harry's fingers.

"It would be an honor, if Harry Potter would allow Tweeny to prepare him his breakfast?" she said with a wide smile.

"Oh, well—" but Tweeny didn't wait for an answer. With a low crack, the little elf was gone.

"She's like that with everyone," Dwight said. "Only an elf would get excited about cooking breakfast twice in one day. Come on, she'll have it ready before we even get all the way downstairs, knowing her. And you two," he said to the two small boys, who were now huddled together whispering in each other's ears. "Don't even think about it," he told them, before turning away, and walking out, with Harry following him.

"Nice to meet you both," Harry said to the boys.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Potter," the little boys answered in unison.

When Harry joined Dwight in the hallway, there was a smirk on the older boy's face. They'd reached the top of the stairs, before Dwight turned to look at him, and spoke. "I have no Idea what they are up to, but they _are_ up to something," he said, "they always are."

ooooo

Harry had his share of food. He hadn't been particularly starved, but still, Tweeny kept sending him plates of food, and he politely kept on eating them. By the end of it, he had eaten two helpings of porridge, five slices of toast, four sausages, two helpings of bacon, and three glasses of freshly-made pumpkin juice.

Because Harry looked like he was going to explode, Dwight took pity on him, and went back to the kitchen to convince Tweeny to stop sending him more food. As he explained, when she got excited she tended to overdue herself.

"Last year on my birthday, she made me three birthday cakes. We had cake for weeks—well we would have, if the twins hadn't gotten their hands on them."

"They ate three cakes?"

"Wish they had. They catapulted them across the back garden," Dwight said, "not sure were they got the catapult from," he added. Harry was about to comment on what Dwight had said, when another voice interrupted them.

"What are you two up to?" It was Hermione, who had entered the dinning room, holding Kyle by one hand and Stanley by the other.

"Just talking. Did they go down?" Dwight frowned at his brothers.

"Caught them one foot each on the top step," she said. Both boys looked nothing less than defeated, their little shoulders sagging, and their heads down. "Why don't you two go outside?" The twins looked up at their mother, a surprised look on their faces, that told Harry they were shocked, but glad, that they had somehow avoided punishment. "You as well, Dwight," she told her eldest son.

"Come on you two," Dwight said, standing up, and guiding his brothers with the palm of his hands, on their backs. "Lets play hide-and-seek," he told them.

"Yesssss!" both twins cheered in unison, running ahead of their brother, flapping their hands up and down like wings.

"Stay out of the woods," Hermione called after them, Dwight waved his assurance. "Dear God, they're going to kill me one day," Hermione huffed, sitting down on the chair Dwight had vacated next to Harry.

"Dwight, he seems a sweet boy, smart. And Stanley and Kyle, they seem very bright, too bright maybe," Harry said.

"Yes they are, and thank you," she answered with a smile. "Tomas is an amazing boy as well."

"He has nothing of me of course," Harry replied. "I only helped in keeping him clothed, and fed. He's….he's more than I ever was, far more different than I was at his age. Winston and Wilhelmina, they had him his first few years, and they were such kind, loving people," he said.

"He told me. Winston Ducat, that was the potioneer, right?" Hermione asks, Harry nodded. "I have a few of his books. Too bad the way he died. Never had a chance once he rejected the death eaters."

"True, but Tomas is proud of that, standing up for what was right, even when he knew he had no chance. His poor mother didn't fair much better." For a moment, Harry's eyes filled with sadness. He looked away, and Hermione gave him a minute to collect himself.

"And then Wilhelmina, with that disease," he continued, sounding a little bitter, for the cards that Tomas had been dealt. "But the boy's done well. He's bright, generous, carrying, and loving. He's got a good heart, and for that I'm grateful."

"He has you too." Hermione smiled. "More of you than you might care to notice, and he looks up to you, and more than that, he loves you. He sees no difference between you and the parents he lost," she told him, as if reassuring Harry of something he should already know. She paused for a moment. He saw that she was about to start speaking about something that wasn't pleasantries about their children.

"Why did you leave?" she finally said—his head snapped up, and the look that he gave Hermione was one of shock. He had expected this conversation at one point, of course. But now that it had come, he didn't know how to react to it.

"Why did I leave?"

"What I mean is; fourteen years ago, why did you just up and disappeared one day?" She looked down, and gulped.

"Hermione, I—"

"I don't know what you're thinking Harry," she said looking up at him again. "After all this time. Do you think that she'll leave Alan? That she'll break her family apart for you? That she'll hurt her son by leaving the man who's been his father for most of his life?"

"I—I didn't," he stuttered, but was immediately cut of by Hermione who seemed to be on a roll now.

"After all this time, Harry, why did you really come back? Why now?" she asked. He sighed, taking a deep breath.

"I missed home, I missed—" he said. He caught himself half-sentence, and looked down at the table, as he rethought his words. "The truth is, I missed her," he said in a low, somber tone. "I missed you. I missed Ron. I missed Molly, Arthur, George, Fred, Bill and even that prat, Percy.

"I missed my world, and I missed my old life, but at the end of it all, I missed her the most, " he finished, now looking up to the ceiling instead of down, as if looking for an answer from some greater being. "I missed me," he said after couple of silent moments. He looked down, and turned away from her, but Hermione still saw him wipe at his face with the back of his hand. When he was done, he turned to look at her.

"And?" She said. The word had sounded so mean, and dismissive, that Harry stiffened.

He looked steadily at Hermione, she saw the thought forming in his head, the one thing Ginny had feared that he would do. Hermione knew Harry well. Sure he had been gone for fourteen years, but she had grown up with him, she had known him, as well as anyone could have known him.

He'd been stubborn, and impatient, then, and she didn't see that being any different now. She knew that if he had a chance of having the one thing he had always yearned for, a family, he would not give it up so easily. He would do anything he could to get his family, to get Ginny, to have his son with him.

"I want my family, Hermione," was his simple, and obvious answer.

"They're not yours to take, Harry. Ginny is Alan's wife, and Charlie is his son," she said.

She'd been prepared for his answer, but what she had not been prepared for, had been his reaction to her answer. He stood up so quickly that his chair had overturned. His face was red, his fists were clenched, and his eyes were burning with anger.

"She loves me!" he shouted. "He's my son, not his! They're my family, not his! So don't bloody dare say otherwise!"

Hermione, had stumbled back as she stood up from her chair, startled by his outburst. Even though she knew he would not hurt her, not in a million years. She also knew Harry tended to let his emotions run rampant, and smoother his reasoning. But for some reason she hadn't been ready for quite this loss of control.

"Harry Potter!" came a growl from the other side of the dinning room.

Hermione turned to see Ron standing rigid as a rock, his wand pointed straight at Harry, his eyes burning with the same anger that seemed to come from Harry's eyes. He was breathing deeply through his nose, his mouth closed, his face hard, as he looked at Harry.

"Back away from my wife," Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Ron, its alright—" Hermione started, walking towards her husband, her hand stretched to him.

"No, Hermione, its not alright," he said, still steadily pointing his wand at Harry, who was now staring blankly at Ron, all the fight seeming to have gone from him the moment he'd seen his friend.

Harry had never thought he would find himself in this situation. He was always prepared, always on the watch. He was a one-eye-open-at-night kind of guy. And yet, now he found himself staring head on at the wand of a man whose wife he'd just verbally attacked. This would not end well, for him.

He already knew he would come out of this hexed, and on his back if he didn't leave now. He couldn't believe what he had just done, how he'd treated her. He had promised himself a long time ago, to never let himself lose control. He had worked on his anger for years, but it seemed that what Hermione had said, had struck a chord. It had made him snap, and now, the guilt was eating at him. How could he?

"Ron, put down that wand," Hermione demanded, stepping forward to stand in front of her husband, and looking up at him, but Ron just stared at Harry.

He was in his right to defend his wife, Harry thought. The tip of Ron's wand wavered a little, as he looked down into his wife's eyes. But there was only a second of hesitation, because a moment later, it seemed as if he'd decided he was in the right, and that he could not, would not let this pass. Not in his own house, not from Harry, or from anyone. Ron raised his wand again, more determined this time, his eyes focused back on Harry, as he stepped out from behind his wife's blockade.

"Leave my house, now, or so help me God," he said, and Hermione didn't say anything this time.

"Dad?" a shaky voice came from the doorway behind Hermione and Ron. The three adults turned around to see Tomas, standing rigid as statue, a few steps behind Ron. His face was pale, and his hands trembled as he stood there watching.

Seeing the frightened boy, Ron lowered his wand, and pocketed it in one swift movement.

"Its okay. We're all okay," Harry assure him as he walking forward, moving around Hermione and Ron, who stepped out of the way to let him through.

He put an arm around Tomas' shoulder, "everything is alright, son," he sad, squeezing the boy's shoulders for comfort. "We're all alright," he said again, before guiding him away from the dinning room, into the foyer and up the stairs.

Once Harry and Tomas were out of earshot, Hermione turned to Ron. "They have nowhere to go, Ron, and that poor boy," she said.

"You can't expect me to allow him to stay in my house, after the way he spoke to you," Ron said. He huffed, and then, seeming to be lost for things to say or do, he harshly righted the chair Harry had overturned, and sat down, his arms crossed over his chest, avoiding her gaze. Hermione sighed.

"Do you even know what we were talking about?" she asked, sliding into the chair next to his, and scooting it over, as close as she could to him. Trying to catch his eyes, but failing.

"I don't care. You could have been damning the very essence of him, he should have watched himself," he said. They were quiet for a moment, before Ron looked up, his eyes full of unwavering anger.

"He thinks he can return like nothing's happened, and then treat you like this," he said, each word, louder, and faster. More erratic. "He's mistaken if he thinks otherwise." He stopped for a moment, looking down at his feet, which were bouncing up and down nervously. He looked back up at his wife. "He doesn't deserve your love, or Ginny's," he added.

"What about yours?" she asked quietly after a moment.

"I—" he stuttered taken by surprise, his legs stopped their bouncing. He cleared his throat, and then spoke. "He hasn't been my friend in over a decade, he made sure of that himself when he left. He lost me the second he walked out that door. Ginny was foolish to even wait for him for as long as she did," the man declared, trying his hardest to not to show his true emotions, but failing.

"Don't kid yourself, Ron," Hermione told him, "we waited too—we waited until the day he came back," she said with a finality that took his next words away from him.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned his head down, and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Love," Ron said more calmly, a little sad even. "I know you want to help him, but I just can't have him here. You know I won't be able to control myself, and neither will he. And I don't want to regret anything; for me, for our family, and like you said, for that boy," he sighed. "Harry can take care of himself, he always has, and he can also take care of Tomas just fine," Ron told her. He felt Hermione shift, and he also heard a sniffle and her hand move to her face, as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Tomas descended the stairs, each holding a bag over their shoulders. Tomas with a stack of books under his left arm. Ron and Hermione stood up.

"We'll come back for the rest of our things when we find a place to stay, if that's alright with you?" Harry said to Ron. His old friend simply nodded his head in response, but still avoided his gaze.

Tomas walked across the dining room and gave Hermione a friendly hug. Hermione whispered something in the boy's ear, and he smiled. He then shook Ron's hand and muttered a thank you.

"Thank you," Harry said to Ron and Hermione, once Tomas had returned to his side, "and sorry… about everything," he added, looking at Hermione, the guild and shame obvious in his eyes. "Come, Tomas," he called as he led the way towards the foyer.

In a moment, they were pass the property line. From the dinning room window, Hermione watched as Harry looked up at the house, regret on his face.

Harry looked up and down the suburban street. It was early, and most of the muggles that lived there were at work, or on vacation. She saw Harry's wand slide out from his, remaining mostly hidden from view. He mumbled something, and she knew what he'd done. A spell to keep any muggles that might be looking out their windows, not even realize they'd seen what they seen.

Harry turned to his son and said something, the boy nodded. Tomas turned on the spot, and then he was gone. Harry looked up at the house one more time, and she was sure, his eyes met hers, because a little, sad smiled appeared on his lips, and then he too was gone.


	15. Chapter 15: Elk's Grove

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ELK'S GROVE_**

 ** _DADDY POTTER?_**

 _By Wendy L. Mardigan_

 _What was the Boy-Who-Lived up to in the years after his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?_

 _Immediately after his defeat of the Dark Lord, the then 19-year-old Harry Potter, aka: The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Savior, The One, had moved into a flat with his then 18-year-old fiance, Ginny Weasley. This arrangement however seemed to have been short lived._ _It is unknown if any disagreement happened between the two, but what is known is that less than a year later Harry Potter was gone._

 _Did Harry Potter simply abandon a girl he no longer wished to marry? Or was it that he finally discovered the lewd nature of the girl he'd thought of making his wife? Possibly. It is however not for me to decide on the validity of these accusations, simply to report on them._ _So unless Mr. Potter or Ginny Weasley—now Mrs. Alan Summers—agree to sit down with me to contest these accusations, we will never truly know._

 _As you all might have heard Mr. Potter, now 32, has returned home to England after his fourteen year absence. But as many of my readers my now must have heard, Potter has not returned alone. Sources tell me Potter has in fact brought with him a youth of 16, by the name of Tomas J. Potter._

 _The reasons for Harry Potter's departure, and the reasons for his return are still unclear. Not even those who had been his friends during his years at Hogwarts seem to be privy to that information. To try to glean more information on the matter, I approached one of Harry Potter's old school friends, which as it turns out is a former colleague of mine from the Ministry censored Daily Prophet. Dean Tomas, as charming as always, told me to "piss off, and to let him eat his steak and kidney pie in peace."_

 _As for Tomas Potter, according to sources, the boy is by all appearances Potter's adopted son. There is however much more to this story, as I have discovered through unrelenting, investigative prowess._ _Let me be the first to inform you that young Mr. Tomas Potter is in fact, Tomas Ducat, the only son of the late Winston and Wilhelmina Ducat of Germany._

 _For those of you who don't know, Winston Ducat was a healer and potioneer, who by the young age of thirty had already started to make a name for himself for his work in the field of genetics, specifically the abnormality of squibs (non-magical children of a witch or wizard.)_ _What you might not know however is that Mr. Ducat was also a loyal member of the German chapter of the Order of the Phoenix, who was allegedly murdered by the followers of the Dark Lord, fourteen years ago._

 _As for the boy's mother, Wilhelmina Ducat. It was a surprise to discover, that she was in fact, Willie B. Rooter, the beloved children's author of "Little Gnome in the Garden," and "The Toad and the Muggle," which most of your children have probably grown up reading. It is however with great sadness, that I have also discovered that the beloved Willie B. passed away six years ago, at the young age of thirty-seven, in her home in Germany, from an unknown disease._

 _Rumors tell, that in the last years of her life, Mrs. Ducat had become a paranoid-recluse, who was becoming increasingly more ill by the day. But what was not publicly known was that throughout her years of illness, Mrs. Ducat was not under the care of any local healer, but instead under the care of her so-called friend, Harry Potter, who it seems did not take the time to take her in for a check up._

 _It was after the death of this beloved author, that the guardianship of young Tomas was left in the hands of none other than Mr. Harry Potter himself, who had by that time, proceeded to adopt the child and give him the surname, Potter. The circumstances of this adoption are unclear, and suspicious, specially since I have discovered that Mrs. Ducat has a living relation by the name of Felicity Birtwistle._

 _Ms. Birtwistle, age 47, a baker, and Mrs. Ducat's cousin, who I found living right here in the heart of London_ _—_ _with no husband, and three cats—should have been the one to legally take guardianship young Tomas._ _I was able to track down, and obtain a sit down with Ms. Birtwistle. Over stale biscuits and bland tea, I was allowed to ask her why it was that she did not take guardianship of her cousin's child._ _This is what Ms. Birtwistle had to say:_

 _"I didn't even know Wilhelmina had died until you told me, never mind having a son. We were not close, last time I saw her she was twelve years old, and I doubt she even remembered me. She didn't even invite me to her wedding, and if you must know we were not even real blood relations._

 _"When I was four, my father married a second cousin of her mother's. So we were as related to each other, as you are to me. If I were you, I would mind my own business and leave Harry Potter alone. He's such an upstanding, nice man. He already did enough for England, and should now be allowed his privacy."_

 _Unfortunately, I was not able to get more answers, since Ms. Birtwistle rudely asked that I leave her house and never return or, "I will hex your hair off," in her own words, after I asked her if anyone had paid her to say such amiable things about Harry Potter._

 _Was the sudden, violent behavior on the part of Ms. Birtwistle an avoidance tactic, or a sign of mental illness that might run deep? No one but Ms. Birtwistle and her medical providers know that answer._

 _As for Harry Potter, Yes, to the uninformed eye this all looks like the charitable doings of a man with a heart of gold. Sure that would be true, were it not for my discovery of a trust fund belonging to young Tomas. A trust fund which cannot be touched until the youngster reaches the age of twenty-one._

 _So, I ask you, my loyal readers: Is Harry Potter a loving, adoptive father? Or just a greedy man after a poor, orphaned boy's inheritance? You tell me._

ooooo

"I thought Rita Skeeter was bad, but this Wendy Mardigan is a nastier piece of work." Molly Weasley was sitting at her kitchen table in the Burrow, with Hermione and Ginny flanking her, all of them with a cup of tea.

"Harry might be a lot of things, but he would never do something so horrible," Ginny said, taking the paper from her mother's hands and standing up and walking to stand in front of the sink, by the window. She gave the article a nasty look as she re-read the last line, and then tossed it unceremoniously into the trash bin.

"Did Alan see it?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, and then she nodded. Mrs. Weasley sighed. The article on Harry and Tomas had also brought back painful memories for their family, specifically Ginny.

It had been Wendy Mardigan who had written the articles about Ginny, her family, and Daniel. Back then, Alan had been able to use his connections in the Ministry to get Wendy Mardigan fired from the Daily Prophet. This time however, not even his closeness to the Minister had helped him stop Wendy Mardigan.

"He's not happy, if that's what you're asking," Ginny finally said, "but there's nothing he or the Minister can do about it, not unless she blatantly slanders us. Unfortunately for us, she's an expert at making it all seem hypothetical, and unlike with the Daily Prophet, Minister Dolen has no sway with the owners of this paper."

"Its a gossip rag, is what it is," Hermione spat. "Printing such nasty lies about people. Even Ron agreed with me on this one," she added, pouring herself some more tea from the kettle.

It had been a few days since the publication of the article, and Hermione knew that while Ron was worried about Harry, he was also too proud to ask after his well being. She didn't blame him for it, not really. Ron had a right to feel the way he did, and she would not take that away from him. Harry had mistreated Hermione, and in Ron's eyes, it was his responsibility to defend and protect his family, from everything and anyone, even his once best friend.

However, she also knew that not knowing pained him, so she'd volunteered the information without being ask, allowing her husband to keep his pride intact.

Ginny stood by the sink, staring out the window as her mother, and sister-in-law continued to talk. The Weasley family had gotten together for their monthly family gathering. Outside, Dwight, Charlie, and Morph—Tonks and Lupin's fifteen-year-old son—chased Hermione's twins around the garden. The small one's laughed with glee at being chased by the older boys who were making monster noises.

She looked at Jack, George's eight-year-old son, out to the side on his own. As usual, her nephew had foregone joining in the other children's games. Jack's light-blue eyes gleamed with curiosity, and his shaggy, auburn hair flipped a little in the wind. He sat cross-legged under a tree, a wide smile on his face as he played with one of the garden gnomes—who surprisingly seemed keen on the boy, and had yet to bite, like the average gnome would have done—Everyone and everything loved Jack. He was such a sweet, timid boy, without a bad bone in him.

She could still see him, her little Jackie, four-years-old, asking Auntie Ginny and daddy why he didn't have a mommy like his cousins did. George had excused himself, and ran from the room so his son would not see him cry. How do you tell your four-year-old, a simple infection gone out of control had taken his mother from him? Ginny shook this memory from her head. She couldn't be sad now, not if she was to stay clear-minded, so instead, she looked around the garden and found her niece, Gwyneth, her brother Bill's daughter. Gwynnie's eleventh birthday was fast approaching, and starting this upcoming school year, she would be joining her older cousin's at Hogwarts.

Gwynnie was sitting on her grandfather's lap, he seemed to be telling the child an amazing story. Arthur's hand gestures were big and exaggerated, and the girl smiled widely, and giggled once in a while as she paid close attention at her grandfather. _Probably about a muggle contraption,_ Ginny thought, as she looked at her father laugh when Gwynnie said something.

She saw her brothers, Ron and Bill, and Bill's wife, Fleur, talking with Alan. Her husband looked less than interested, but hid it well.

She watched Fred sneaked up on his wife Jennifer, who was currently talking to Tonks, and holding their eighteen-month-old daughter, Wendy.

George had now started chasing the children. Ginny watched as her brother got hold of Dwight, pinned him to the ground, and started tickling him.

Percy was talking with his wife, Penelope, who quietly sat on one of the long tables. She didn't seem to be paying much attention to her husband, as she instead watched all the children that surrounded her, with a sad-longingly look on her face.

Ginny turned and noticed her son. He was laughing heartily, holding his stomach. He was standing to the side, watching his uncle George who'd been overpowered, and taken down by all the children, and was now being tickled furiously. Ginny smiled as she watched her son's bright face.

"Ginny?" Molly had been speaking to her daughter, but she'd been distracted as she looked out at her family, and hadn't heard her.

"Yes?" Ginny turned away from the window, to face her mother.

"Have you heard from him?" Molly asked. Ginny just looked blankly at her mother, "from Harry, dear?" Molly added.

"Oh…no, well not directly. Fred has seen him. He helped Harry get a house. I'm not sure exactly were it is, somewhere north, near Cheshire, according to Jennie. Fred is keeping it pretty quiet, just in case," she said. Molly nodded her understanding, and sipped her tea.

"Penny looks so sad," Ginny said, as she walked back to take her seat at the table.

Ginny knew Percy and his wife had been trying for years to have a child, but had not been able to. Percy had been against adoption from the very first mention of it.

"Percy still won't agree to it, will he?" Hermione asked her mother-in-law.

"Arthur tried having a talk with him. Even the boys did, but he won't accept it, and that poor girl wants so much to be a mother."

"Gran, can we have pudding?" Jack called, as he ran in through the kitchen door.

Jack, as usual, had been made ambassador of the Weasley's grandchildren. Stanley had once informed his aunt, that they'd all agreed Jackie was the most adorable one of them all, and therefor the most likely to get a positive response from the adults.

The rest of Mrs. Weasley's grandchildren, including Morph, were now standing some feet away from the door, staring in, waiting for an answer with hopefulness in their eyes.

"Well, maybe if you give me a kiss." Molly smiled, and turned her face, angling her cheek towards the boy. Jack ran quickly to his grandmother, and planted a big loud kiss on her cheek. Molly laughed and gave the boy a hug.

"Well, the price for pudding is a kiss. So if anyone else wants some, they'll have to pay," she called to the door.

Soon seven pairs of lips and hands were kissing and hugging Molly Weasley. The twins took specially long to let go. " _For extra pudding,"_ Kyle had exclaimed.

Even George and Fred, who was holding his daughter Wendy, were now in the kitchen. Having heard the news that kisses were required to receive pudding, they'd preceded to kiss their mother exaggeratedly. Fred leaning his daughter forwards, so she could land a messy, wet kiss on her grandmother's cheek.

"All the sudden everyone loves me, or should I say loves pudding," Molly said as she started to pull bowls, and spoons, for pudding from the cabinets

All the children, including Fred and George, cheered.

ooooo

Tomas Potter sat in his room looking through the window at the back garden. He knew his father was sitting there, with his back against the big tree near the lake.

He knew because that's were he spent most of his time these days—unless he locked himself in his room, of which he also did a lot off. Once, Tomas had found on a chair in the dinning room, slumped over, fast asleep. Not that he did much sleeping mind you, he'd probably just been so exhausted that he'd passed out.

Tomas had made him a sandwich an hour before, and he'd walked down to the lake and placed the plate, and a glass with orange juice, next to him on the grass.

The boy had stood there for a moment, staring at him, waiting. Finally Harry had lifted the sandwich and taken a bite, chewed, and swallowed. He'd grabbed the orange juice, and taken a couple of gulps. Tomas had stood there the ten minutes it had taken Harry to eat, and drink it all.

Eating was about the only thing Tomas could force him to do. Or more like annoy him to do. If Harry didn't eat, Tomas didn't leave. His exact words had been, "you either eat, or I don't leave. I'll stay all day here, follow you around the house if I have to." The first time, he'd stood over his father for close to twenty minutes before Harry had realize that there was nothing he could do to deter Tomas to leave him alone, not unless he ate what he'd been given. This was the way things had been since they'd left King's Manor, a little over two weeks before.

Tomas thought about the last couple of weeks. Harry had tried to return to Germany after the incident in Hermione and Ron's house. Tomas however, would not have it. He'd told his father he would not return with him if he left, and that if he forced him, he would only have him until he was seventeen.

Harry had begrudgingly agreed to stay in England, and furthermore, he had agreed to purchase the house they were living in now.

The house was beautiful. Tomas had named it Elk's Grove, after his patronous—because all decent wizarding houses needed a name, Harry had told him once—It was a great, big thing. Made from redbrick, and topped with dark, gray shingles. It had two fireplaces—one in the family room, and one in the library—and a great wooden porch that wrapped around the whole house, topped in the back by large balconies that could be accessed through the bedrooms. It had two floors, and an attic, and lots of big windows for light. The windows had been Tomas' favorite thing, that and the large library.

It sat on ten ten acres of land, which included part of a forest, and a lake on the west side. To the south, and front of the house, there was a long drive that met up with a muggle road that weaved itself into a green forest for miles in either direction.

To the north—were most of the property lay—there were spectacular-looking, green, rolling hills, with beautiful trees everywhere. The trees thickened the further away they moved from the house, until they became part of the same forest on the other side.

About an hour-and-a-half-walk, southeast down the muggle road, was St. Rotcher Danver, a muggle village.

Fred Weasley had helped them get the house. A good friend of his from Hogwarts, had done some business with the man that owned it. On Tomas' request, Fred had also had the house connected to the Floo Network, through his father's connection.

As paranoid as his father had been while they'd lived in Germany, he'd done nothing to protect this house from even a muggle driving down the road, or one talking a walk. Anyone could waltz right into their new home. Not that a muggle would think anything of it. It was just a big house in the country, with a father and son living in it.

Harry had allowed Tomas the first pick of the five rooms. Tomas had forced Harry to take the master bedroom, at the end of the hallway, and Tomas had taken the room at the top of the stairs. That way, he'd thought, he could better keep an eye on his father, and know when he went up or down the stairs.

Downstairs on the western part of the house, there was a large kitchen to the back of the house, opened to a dinning room. On the other end, there was a great big family room, and a study, with big windows that faced the beautiful northern side of the property.

Because the furniture from the flat they'd been living in had belonged to the owners, Harry had given Tomas full access to his accounts to buy what was needed.

"Besides," Harry had told the boy. "This is your house. Do with it what you will."

The first thing Tomas had had the good sense to purchase—even before they'd moved into the house—had been two beds, so they'd have somewhere to sleep. But the truth was, Tomas was only sixteen, and he had no idea what a house needed. Not besides the obvious, like beds, sofas, and a table to eat on.

Taking pity on the boy, Jennie, Fred Weasley's wife, had helped with picking out the rest of the furniture, and getting other odds and ends a house might need, like a trash bin, and toilet paper.

The cellar was currently being used as storage, and the attic was mostly empty. Once he managed to make the rest of the place presentable, he thought to turn the attic into a place that one could relax in. He thought of books, and comfortable sofas were he could sit and read out of his father's way.

Tomas loved the house, and he knew he would be happy there—but not yet. Right now there was no happiness to be had, not while his father lost himself in sorrow. Not while he suffered with a broken heart.

ooooo

"Can I go to Diagon Alley?"

Tomas had walked down to the lake to talk to Harry. He hadn't left the the house in over a week, in fear of leaving his father alone.

Harry looked disheveled, he hadn't shaved in quite a while, and he definitely hadn't showered that day, and possibly the two days before. He was already starting to look sick. He was pale, and had dark shadows under his eyes from sleepless.

"What?" Harry turned around in a haze to look at Tomas.

"Can I go to Diagon Alley?" Tomas repeated.

"Oh, yes, yes of course. Do you, do you need any gold?" Harry said reaching for his pocket blankly.

"I have some," Tomas answered.

"Alright, well..." Harry said, not even bothering to finish his sentence, becoming almost immediately distracted by his own thoughts again.

"Right," Tomas said more to himself than anything, as he turned away from his father.

"Be careful, Tomas," Harry said in a whisper.

"Yes," Tomas said as he, again, turned around and walked back into the house.

At the base of the steps of the porch, the boy paused and looked back to the big tree that hid his father's sad, slumped form. Tomas sighed and walked up the porch steps, and into the house, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

He actually had no intentions on going to Diagon Alley. In truth, he needed to find Ginny and talk to her. If someone didn't speak to his father soon he would surely fall ill, and then... what if... no he could not think of the "what ifs".

From what he knew, from his conversations with Ginny, on the first weekend of every month, every Weasley and company met in her parent's home. Tomas was sure that Ginny had called it the Burrow. So, because it was now the first weekend of the month, that's exactly were she should be.

It was only fifteen minutes past noon, and if he hurried he could catch her having lunch. He grabbed his traveling cloak, and bound it tight around himself so the soot from the fireplace wouldn't get him filthy.

Fred had connected their house to the Burrow, and his own home, with Tomas' request that they keep it from his father. He looked around, making sure his father hadn't followed him back into the house, and then, grabbing some floo powder from the silver jar atop the mantelpiece, he walked onto the hearth and called out, "the Burrow."

ooooo

The first thing he noticed when he landed in the family room of the Burrow, was an array of mismatched furniture, and family photos hanged along the walls.

"Who's that?" a child called.

Tomas looked up and found two small children, a boy and a girl, both holding bunches of silverware in their hands, watching him with curiosity.

"Oh, hello, I'm Tomas, is Ginny here?" he asked them.

The children looked at him cautiously, probably deciding whether or not he looked trust worthy. They stared at him for a bit, and then the girl giggled—obviously taken by Tomas—before running off pulling the boy with her.

Well that didn't go as I hoped, he thought. What should he do? He knew he needed to find Ginny, and unless she happened to walk into the house just then, before anyone else did, and discovered him there, that was not going to happen.

Making up his mind, he slowly walked towards the archway the children had ran through. He entered a kitchen, and saw an ajar door that opened to a back garden. He looked out the window above the sink, and outside he saw an assortment of red hair and others sitting at two long tables, eating.

The small girl who'd ran out was now whispering something into the ear of a woman with red hair. The girl pointed towards the house, and Ginny turned around, her eyes wide as they met Tomas'. Ginny leaned down and whispered something into the girl's ear, the girl nodded in agreement and immediately ran towards a space between two boys.

Tomas saw Ginny lean down between two identical red headed men, her brothers Fred and George. She whisper something to them and they glanced towards the house catching Tomas' eye before they turned back to their sister, and nodded.

Ginny stood up saying something to the party around her, and started to make her way to the house. Ginny's husband had looked up, but George had immediately taken his attention away from Ginny, by starting a conversation with the man.

"Tomas, is everything alright?" Ginny asked as she walked into the kitchen, pulling Tomas away from the window.

"It's my dad," Tomas answered.

"Is Harry hurt?" she said, suddenly overwhelmed by the same thing happening to Harry that had happened to Daniel. The memories of Daniel's death filled her anguish and guilt.

"No, he's fine. Well, not all the way. I mean, he's…" he said, as Ginny sat him on one of the remaining chairs around the kitchen table.

"Calm down, Tomas, so I can understand you."

"Alright, sorry." He closed his eyes, and took a big breath, and then he looked back at Ginny. "I know why I came. I came to speak to you," Tomas said

"So tell me," Ginny urged him.

"He-he barely speaks, nothing more than yes or no. I can hear him walking around at night, so I know he's barely sleeping. He even canceled a business trip to Colorado, just so he could stay home and…well, sit and sleep. He's never done that before, never. I have to force him to eat, and I can't even clean up around the house, without him working up a temper. He's not himself, Ginny, he's not dad," Tomas finished, looking down to his hands. "He needs—" Tomas stopped himself mid-sentence, and looked back up at Ginny.

"It's alright, you can tell me," Ginny said, reassuring the boy.

"He needs you, Ginny." Ginny sighed, shaking her head. "What if—what if he dies from a broken heart?" Tomas said, finally voicing the fear that had been weighing him down for days now. And now, tears he had promised he would not shed, had started to slowly fall down his face. "I know it seems impossible, it sounds stupid, but—"

"I don't think he'll die from a broken heart, Tomas," Ginny said, trying to convince Tomas, as much as she was trying to convince herself that that would not happen, not again.

"You haven't seen him. If you'd see him you'd be as worried as me."

Ginny gulped, those words had hit a chord within Ginny. Those had been almost the exact words that she'd said years before, the ones she'd spoken to her mother just weeks before Daniel had died of his own broken heart. She would never forget that for as long as she lived, and if it happened again, she didn't think she could survive it, not if it happened to Harry.

Daniel had been so much like Harry was, which is what had driven her to him. Both of them had been passionate, uncontrollable, and exciting. Both of them wearing their hearts on their sleeves, both of them relentless in their pursuit of her love.

"So what could I possibly do?" she asked, even when she already knew she would do what she knew he was asking. That she would go to Harry, because she would not allow another man in her life to wither away because of her. In a way, she'd known it since she saw Tomas looking out at her from the kitchen window.

"Would—would you go see him?" Tomas asked in a low, pleading voice, confirming what she already knew.

Ginny stood up and walked towards the window, her arms crossed. She reached the window and looked out, searching for her son. She found him, he was talking to his grandparents, a smile on his face. She remembered when Harry had looked like that, just like Charlie did now. Ginny had known the boy then, but did she know the man now? Could she really help him, without promising him love? Or would she cave in, and fall head first into him, bearing her heart?

"Ginny?" She'd been quiet for a few minutes, and Tomas confused, yet hopeful, had waited for her to come back to him. Ginny slowly turned around, her face calm and decisive. She nodded her decision at which time Tomas stood, a smile immediately replacing his sad grimace.

"Let's go, before anyone else sees you here," Ginny said, quickly walking towards Tomas and leading him out of the kitchen, back towards the family room he'd first come in through.

"Won't they notice you're gone?" Tomas asked.

"George and Fred will take care of it," she said.

He followed Ginny to the fireplace, were she reached for the floo powder from a colorful jar atop the mantelpiece. She offered Tomas some of the powder.

"Were going to Elk's Grove," Tomas told her before taking some of the floo powder she offered, and stepping onto the hearth.

ooooo

Tomas waited a moment before Ginny stepped out through the fireplace. She turned to look at the room, it was a family room. There were two black sofas facing each other, and in front of the fireplace a couple of comfortable looking arm chairs with matching ottomans. There was a coffee table in-between the sofas, and it was littered with papers, books, and a forgotten tea cup next to an empty bottle of liquor.

Ginny looked up, and saw that the rest of the place was also a mess. Everywhere there were unpacked cardboard boxes, dirty clothes, and all other manner of things that were either trash, or needed putting away.

When Tomas caught Ginny looking at the mess, he looked down embarrassed and crossed the room to take the bottle. He tried to effortlessly bring some order by organizing some of the books and papers into piles.

"He's probably still outside," Tomas said, gesturing towards the left side of the house. He seemed to have given up on the mess with a defeated sigh, clearly having decided that cleaning up was not really all that important at the moment.

Ginny followed Tomas through an archway, into a big foyers that opened into the second floor, with large wooden stairs descending on the left side. Instead of crossing to the dinning room directly across from the living room, they went down the back, crossing another archway that opened to a wide hallway that ran perpendicular to them. Behind the stairs were the stairs to the cellar, and the back wall of the hallway was windows, and a double glass door, that opened into a larger porch, and a back garden—but Tomas didn't stop there, he took her left and into the kitchen.

Ginny followed him across the kitchen, and into a breakfast nook that was nothing but windows on two sides. There was a rustic looking wooden table, stained white, with long benches at each side.

The boy stopped in front of the windows that faced Westward. He pointed out towards a collection of large green trees.

"Under the big one," Tomas said, and then Ginny saw it a very large tree that sat among its smaller cousins, at the side of a large, sparkling lake, which was surrounded by forest on the western bank.

Ginny sighed and turned to look at the kitchen instead. The double sink was full of dishes, and an array of unwashed pots and pans, and empty food cartons littered the counters.

"I tried cleaning up," Tomas said as he walked back into the kitchen, Ginny following him. He put both hands on the sink and leaned into it, setting his mouth in a tight line. His fingers were turning white from how tight he held onto the edge of the sink. Ginny saw it as clear a day, he was angry, and he was getting angrier by the second.

"Every time I start, he gets so worked up. He raises his voice, and slams things, and tells me to just go out, to let it be. He never raises his voice at me, never, not out of anger at least."

A moment later—seeming to have been overcome by a strong desire to do something—Tomas opened the water and took one of the dirty plates in his hands, reaching for a yellow sponge. He viciously started to attack the dried-on food on the plate with the sponge, scrubbing at it as if cleaning it was the only way to keep the frustration, and hopelessness at bay.

A moment later however, it seemed as if the hopelessness had won, because he stopped, his shoulders sagging, his head dropping. Ginny gingerly reached over, and closed the faucet, she took the plate from his hands and lowered it onto the sink. Tomas dropped the sponge in and turned around, leaning back against the sink, staring across the kitchen into the equally messy dinning room.

Ginny put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and when he looked up, his eyes glassy and ready to shed tears, she gave him a comforting smile. He barely smiled back, before he stepped away from the kitchen sink, and grabbed at a newspaper from the middle island.

"I've allowed it come to this," he said waving the paper a bit, and then dropping it back down.

"What could you have done?" Ginny said, stepping around him so that they would face each other. "He's your father, and even though you're a capable, mature boy, you _are_ a boy."

Tomas didn't argue with her. He'd felt more like a boy these days than he had for years. Ginny put an arm around him, he allowed it. He leaned into her for the comfort he'd been starving for.

"Don't worry about the mess, Tomas. _This_ we can fix," she told him, releasing him from the hug. "Why don't you take a walk, or take the floo to the nearby town." Ginny smiled, Tomas seemed about to object to the idea, when they heard the door in the hallway open.

They hadn't seen him walk up to the house, and onto the porch, but there stood Harry, standing on the archway into the kitchen, staring in at them. He looked haggard, with his face unshaven, and his hair hanging greasy, and messy over his eyes. He was holding a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey in his left hand, and he was barefoot.

"Go," she whispered to the boy, but Tomas didn't move, he just stared back at his father. Taking control of the situation, Ginny, grabbed the boy by the arm, and led him into the dinning room, and back into foyer.

"I'll take care of everything, Tomas. Don't worry about me, or him. You just stay out for a while, I'll have him and the house back to normal in no time, trust me," she reassured him, he finally conceded with a nod, and she stepped forward, grabbed his coat from the coat rack, and opened the door for him, holding the coat out for him. He took the coat from her and slipped into it. He walked through the door, and crossed the porch, and descended the stairs. At the base, he looked back up at her.

"Go," she said with smile. He nodded again, and walked across the front garden, and down the drive.

Standing at the doorway, she watched him walk for a moment and then—seemingly having decided what to do—Tomas turned on the spot and with a faint crack, he dissaparated. She stared. Only a boy raised by Harry Potter would have the ability to dissaparated with such confidence at the age of sixteen.

She closed the door, and turned around to face the stairs. She took a deep breath, pulled her hair up into a pony tail, holding it together with a hair band she'd produce from one of her pockets. She took a deep breath, breathing courage into herself, and then she walked back to the kitchen, but when she got there seconds later Harry was gone.

He also wasn't in the dinning room, so she looked out the back and side windows of the kitchen and nook. He wasn't anywhere she could see outside. She crossed back into the hallway, and into the foyer to look into the living room, but no Harry there either. She crossed to the back, were the hallway stretched behind the family room, and gave way to a set of large, wooden, double doors. She opened them, and stepped in. It was a library.

It was a beautiful room; two stories high, with windows, framed in dark wood that went all the way from the bottom to the top. The second level had a balcony that wrapped around three walls, all of which were covered from top to bottom in dark bookshelves. Out the windows, there was one of the most spectacular views Ginny had ever seen. The lawn dropped down until it met the tree line of the forest. The forest was expanse, with trees covered in leaves that were all shades of green. The forest moved up and down, through rolling hills, and in the distance, it opened into green plains, and more hills, and then mountains.

There was a great big wooden desk across from the fireplace, with a large chair behind it. In front of the fireplace, there were two armchairs, and a sofa. There were dozens of boxes stacked neatly around the room. She stepped forward, and saw that most of the boxes were labeled as books, and had shipping stickers from the most commonly used, wizarding shipping company, Move-A-Wizard. Here it seems, Tomas had been allowed his order, because the shelving process had been started, and no trash, or lost items littered the room.

She left the study, and looked through the last door at the end of the hallway, it was a toilet with white walls, and a square window over the sink.

"Harry?" she called as she walked back, down the hallway towards the stairs. No one answered.

She took hold of the banister and slowly made her way up the stairs. She saw family photos of Tomas and Harry, hung along the wall of the stairwell. Poor Tomas had probably tried to encourage Harry by hanging photos of them, to remind him of how happy they'd been once.

The first photo was of a happy toddler with wavy brown hair, and blue-green eyes. He was being by Harry, maybe a year or two after he'd left England. In the photo, Harry pointed at something out of frame, and the toddler looked and giggled and they both started waiving. Ginny smiled.

The second photo was of Tomas in front of a birthday cake, with _Happy eight birthday, Tomas,_ written in green icing, and decorated with a fire breathing dragon. Tomas blew the candles and called for someone behind the camera.

Ginny walked slowly, taking in each photo of Harry and Tomas, and other people she didn't know. Some photos even included muggles, who stood rigidly still, as the photo was taken. There was one of Tomas ridding a racing room, probably his first time. In the photo he must have been about seven or eight. There was one of Tomas and a group of teens, smiling.

She reached the top of the stairs. The hallway at the top, opened to the foyer bellow. She turned right, and opened the first door she came to, it looked like a spare room. There was a bare bed, two side tables, a dresser, and two arm chairs, and nothing else.

The next door, which was at the end of the hallway, was a bath. It had both a standing shower, and a bath, with a long counter on the opposite wall. The wall behind the bath and shower, was tiled in gray stone, and a large window above the bath that opened onto the green beyond. To the right of the bath, was another room, smaller, and mostly empty except for a few boxes, and bed.

She left the spare room, and walked back down the hallway, and came to a stop at the door to the left of the first room she'd inspected, slightly off to the left of the top of the stairs.

She looked in. It was a bedroom, most likely Tomas'. The large bed, with the headboard against the left wall, was done, and all the surfaces clean of clutter. On the right wall, there were three rows of shelves mounted above a couch that looked much the same as the ones in the library.

On the shelves, there were neat piles of books held up by heavy looking metal ends in the shapes of dragon's heads. There were trophies, framed photos, and little gadgets and knick-knacks that a boy Tomas' age might collect. On the top shelf, to the left, there was a raggedy looking brown teddy bear, missing an eye, that had most likely belonged to a very small Tomas, once. Now, it seemed to have gained a place of honor on the top shelf next to a signed quaffle.

There was a large wooden desk that sat bellow the big window against the back wall. To the right of the desk, there was a glass door, framed in white wood, that opened up into a large balcony.

All the shades were pulled open, and one of the window was half open, allowing a fresh breeze in. In the corner next to the balcony door, there was a nice looking racing broom, with a shiny, black handle with the gold letters spelling _Mercury 3X,_ stamped at the top. There was also a poster of the Tornadoes above his bed, it was framed and covered with about a dozen signatures in silver marker all over it.

She picked up a photo from the bedside table closest to the door. In it there were three happy people, standing in the front steps of a brick building.

There was a man, probably in his late thirties. He wore gray slacks, and a blue button up shirt under dark robes. He had an easy, handsome face, and he was all bright gold, from his hair to his tanned skin. His wavy hair fell in a carefree manner over his honey-colored eyes, which were topped with thick eyebrows, slightly darker than his hair.

The man had his arms around a tall, willowy, young woman, wearing a long blue dress. She had straight brown hair, and bright brown eyes. The woman who was fair-skinned, looked almost pale next to the golden man, but that didn't take away from her, because her bright smile, and open eyes, emitted a light that Ginny had ever only seen in very few people.

The man was holding a certificate up to the camera. Ginny looked closer, it was not in English, and all she could read was the year printed on it—it was a marriage certificate, they had just gotten married.

Next to the smiling couple, stood a girl with gray eyes, and long blond hair, the same color as the man's. The girl was no older than nineteen or twenty. The girl had a sweet, pretty face, and she favored the man in looks. Like the man, she was golden from her skin to her long wavy hair. But as the man was stocky, and solidly build, the girl was small, and delicate, with gray eyes, and at that moment, very noticeably pregnant.

The girl was a younger sibling to the man, Ginny had decided, with their golden hair, and matching thick eyebrows over big round eyes. They also had long, fine noses that ended in a slightly upturned tip. Tomas had that same nose, and those same thick eyebrows.

If the man in the photo was Winston, than his new bride must have been Wilhelmina, so unless she too was pregnant when this was taken, she had not been Tomas' mother as they'd all been lead to believe. Because according to the year printed on the certificate, the child growing in the girl's belly was Tomas.

Ginny left the room confused. Why all the secrecy? Why would it had mattered if Winston's younger sister, and not Wilhelmina, was Tomas' mother? It made no sense, no sense at all.

There were only three doors left in the hallway. One on the left, one on the right, and a door at the end of the hallway.

The one on the right side was just another spare room, much like the ones she'd seen before. The one to the left lead to stairs and probably the attic. She decided to forgo going upstairs to the attic, and instead opened the door at the end of the hallway. It was a large room, with windows on two walls, all of them shuttered close, and a door on the left through which she could spy another bath. The room was dark, and stuffy, and the messiest so far.

She walked in, and stopped at the foot of the bed. Harry was sitting on the side facing the windows. In his hand he held a big, leather bound book, which he was looking thought as she watched.

"I was trying to remember what it felt like to be his age, Tomas'," he said with a rough voice, putting the book down next to him on the bed.

He lay back onto the bed and Ginny heard him sigh deeply, "I think I'll sleep," he said, and then he didn't move anymore.

Ginny slowly walked closer and sat at the edge of the bed, she reached for the book he'd been looking through. It was the photo album Hagrid had given Harry when he left school after his first year. Hagrid was now gone, killed during the last battle next to his beloved Madame Maxime.

She opened the photo album. The first photo was of Lily and James Potter. They were happy, waving at the camera, dancing with their arms around each other. The second photo was of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the first year they had met at Hogwarts. Ginny smiled, they had all been so small then.

The third photo was of a baby Harry being passed, by Lily, into the arms of a terrified looking Sirius.

There were more photos, of Harry, of his parents, of Ron, and Hermione, and the other Weasleys. Even Sirius was there, the way he'd been the last time she'd seen him, with his arm around a teenage Harry. After being wrongfully accused, Sirius had spent over a decade in Azkaban. His imprisonment had aged him beyond his thirty-three years, but in this photo, he almost looked young again, and the slight smile he wore, told Ginny that he was finally happy again.

There was one of Remus the day he married Tonks, just a couple of months before his death. There was even a photo of Dobby, shyly looking away from the camera and giggling as Hermione turned him around to face the lens, but none of her—none of Ginny.

The last photo was of Harry, three or four year old Tomas, and the same woman from the photo in Tomas' room, Wilhelmina. The once lively, beautiful woman had wasted away, her eyes sunken, her skin paper-thin, her arms and legs as thin as reeds.

Harry had a hand around her shoulder, but instead of comfort, he seemed to be doing it for support. Tomas ran around them, giggling, and pulling at Harry's robes, mouthing what looked like, dawy, dawy. After that, the next few pages were blank. She put the book down and sat in silence. She put a hand on his leg, but he didn't move.

"Harry," she called softly, but he didn't make a noise, or stir. She leaned over to look at his face, his eyes were closed, and he was steadily breathing in and out. He'd fallen asleep, she sighed.

She walked around the bed and knelt on the floor in front of him, she put her hand through his dark unkempt hair, down to his scruffy cheek. She sniffled a bit before standing up, and was about to walk out of the room, when she noticed a shoe-sized, wooden box, full of what looked to be mostly photographs. She stepped forward, and looked down into the box. They were photos, most of them of her. Inside, there were also other small things, things that had belonged to her, or that she had given him over the years. She could even see the stupid card she'd sent him for Valentine's day, during her first year at Hogwarts.

She grabbed the box, and backed up a few steps, and then, she folded her legs under her, and sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor next to his bed, and started to look through contents of the box.

The first photo was of her and her brothers in the Burrow. Ginny stood on the opposite end of the group, as far away from Harry as she could, but still, her eleven-year-old self, eyed him bashfully across the group of people.

She remembered that photo, it was the first time Harry had stayed at the Burrow, the Summer before her first year at Hogwarts. She had purposefully stood on the opposite end, away from Harry, because every time she was around him, and he said anything to her, from "hey," to "where's Ron?" she'd ran from the room in a blind panic.

The second photo was of Harry and Ginny, sitting by the lake at Hogwarts. This she also remembered. It was the year they had started going out, her fifth year at school, Harry's sixth. Collin Creevy had taken that one. The third photo was of Ginny wrapped in a blanked, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, in Harry and Ginny's first flat, just months before his disappearance.

Harry had bought a camera and had taken to taking photos of Ginny every time he could. This one was from behind, and the only thing moving was the crackling fire, and Ginny's slow rising chest.

Most of the photos she found were like that: of Ginny sitting by herself, or Harry jumping into the frame. There were even a few embarrassing ones. The last photo in the box made her laugh, she had caught him spread out on their bed in his underpants, his mouth wide open.

She remembered how the light from the flash had woken him up. He'd been half-asleep, but he hadn't missed a beat; he had grabbed her by the legs and she'd tumble forward onto the bed on top of him. In the photograph she was laughing, trying to pry herself from what he called his _manly grip_.

She started to look through the rest of the things in the box. There was a necklace that had belonged to her. Harry had promised to fix it when it snapped off during a party they had attended, but he had left before he did so. Now that she held it in her hands, she saw that he'd kept his promise to her and fixed it.

She pulled her hair out of the way, and put the thin chain around her neck, clasping it and letting the small gold pendant fall in place. It was shaped like her patronous, glinting in the small amount of light in the room, and he'd bought it for her the first Christmas they'd date.

Harry shifted in his sleep, and scratched at his face, then put his hand under his head. Ginny looked at him for a moment then went back to looking at the contents of the box.

The next thing she took out was a small glinting rock. She remembered the day they found that. They were walking along the lake at school, on the opposite side of the castle, her fifth year, when she saw it glinting through the water. She had thought just for a minute how pretty it was, and before she could say anything, Harry had taken his cloak and shoes off, and jumped into the water to grab the stone for her. She'd pulled off her own shoes and cloak, and jumped in after him. Harry had the small stone in his hands when she reached him just a couple of feet from the shore.

He grabbed her around the waist, and tried to plant a kiss on her. She dunked his head under the water, but he had a grip on her, and they both went under. Under the surface, he put his lips to hers and kissed her.

She smiled to herself as she remembered how a professor out on a walk around the lake, had found them. They'd both ended up in detention for two weeks, "…for indecent behavior," the professor had proclaimed, since Harry had had his shirt off by that time, and Ginny had one arm out of her own.

She carefully put everything back into the box, and was about to stand, when she noticed a stack of papers on the floor under Harry's bed. She leaned forward, and put the box back atop the side table, where she'd taken it from. She then reached under the bed and grab the stack, which she now saw were letters.

She sat back down and sorted through them. They were all addressed to Tomas, and all of them came from cities across the world. They came from Antwerp, and Johannesburg, Paris, Prague, Giza, and Glasgow, New York City, and even London. Also, she noticed, they were all addressed in the most peculiar way:

 _Mr. Tomas Ducat_

 _Were to? The House that's not there, find me if you can._

 _Dresden, Germany_


	16. Chapter 16: Correspondence

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

 _NOTE: This is probably one of my favorite chapters, not necessarily because the most interesting happened, but because it was so different than the others, which made it really fun to write. Hope you enjoy it._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER SIXTEEN:_** ** _CORRESPONDENCE_**

She grabbed the first letter—the one sent from London—and turned it over in her hands. On the backside for the sender, there was just a red wax seal. She carefully pushed open the envelope so as not to break the seal, and then pulled out the folded parchment. Was she doing the right thing, reading his correspondence? Probably not, she thought, but curiosity won over courtesy, so she unfolded the parchment and started to read.

 _Harry,_

 _I really don't know if this is going to reach you. Why the strange address? Also, why am I addressing it to a five-year-old? Well, you always were an odd sort of person, even for the Boy-Who-Lived. I think most people would agree with me._

She agreed with the writer, Harry had always been an odd sort of person. Taking Tomas' age into consideration, she could place this letter a good eleven years back. Whoever had written it, had been as confused by the address as Ginny was now.

Again, she grabbed the envelope in her hands and turned it to look at the address, the sender had written. _Were to? The House that's not there, find me if you can._ She continued to read.

 _Well forget about that, how was Sweden, did Tomas enjoy the trip? It was great seeing you there. After a few years I was starting to forget what your ugly mug looked like. It was a bit of a shock, I must admit, to find you there, more so because it had been such a long time since we last met._ _By the way, I don't think I ever thanked you, for saving my life in Austria all those years back. So thank you. Also, thank you for the gesture; I never thought of being a godfather, especially not to a Potter. Some people might find it shocking and ironic, but I guess we know better, don't we?_

 _So you've probably have already guessed by the postage were I'm writing from. As you can see, I took your advice, and I've finally made it back home to England. As foreseen, people aren't taking to me, like you did. Still, there are those that have no problem talking to me, not for the right price at least._ _I have asked some of my most undesirable acquaintances, if they have heard anything of a Romina Ducat. I'm sorry to say I have no good news to give you._ _I know you wish Tomas could have his mother back, but he has Willie, she's great with him, and he loves her. Give Willie my hellos by the way, and thank her again for her hospitality. Also tell her that I hope she's fairing better. If not Sweden, maybe somewhere else, but a healer somewhere will find a way to help her._

 _If you've heard about my little incident with the aurors (you must have, it was all over the papers) don't worry. As you can see, they've let me go. I knew I was going to encounter this type of problems the second I stepped one foot on English soil. As expected, people hate me more now than they did when I was a school boy, but I won't let that keep me down._

 _Well I'm off, I'm in a bit of a hurry, got a date tonight, you'd never guess whom. I always found her strange; with her funny magazine, and weird jewelry, but she's grown into her looks, and she's about the only one here (who doesn't spend her days doing dodgy business) who won't spit on my face when I get close enough to shake hands. And y_ _es, I have gotten spat on twice already, but don't worry for me, I'm fine, nothing a handkerchief can't clean up. These are the consequences of my mistakes, and I'll learn to live with them for as long as I have to._

 _Best wishes to you, Willie, and Tomas. And don't go getting too comfortable, because it won't be long before I go visit._

 _And tell Tomas to raise hell while I'm gone._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

Ginny put the letter down. _Your friend most of the time._ That was a strange way to finish a letter. Who ever D was, she probably knew him. According to the letter they had gone to school together, and then he'd left England in bad terms.

Ginny picked up the next letter and unfolded it. This one came from Prague, but no name was given for the sender, just the same red wax seal.

 _Harry,_

 _Got the photo you sent, thanks. I must say the boy looks nothing like you, so thank god for small miracles. I was thinking of passing by Germany on my way back home from Prague._ _I got Tomas something while I was in Egypt last month. He looks like the smart type, even for a seven year old, so I thought he might enjoy a good book on the spells and jinxes of the ancient Egyptians._

 _As for the other thing. I'm still asking around about Romina, but I'm sorry, I have nothing to inform you of yet. I know you still have hope, Harry, and like I say; that should be the last thing you lose. If that wasn't true, I'd be dead and buried myself._

 _How's Willie doing by the way? I'm sorry to hear nothing could be done for her in Moscow, but as long as there's time, there's hope. There is a healer from China, Doic Hung, you've probably heard about his work. He was at a charity dinner I attended last week, when I was in Luxembourg. I spoke to him about Wilhelmina, and he's interested in seeing her. I'll send you his information. He expects an owl from you as soon as possible._

 _Keep your chin up, there's always tomorrow._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

She folded that letter, and picked up another one.

 _Harry,_

 _How are you? Just got back to England a few days ago, and found your letter waiting for me. It seems I moved too much this time, and the last owl you sent couldn't find me, so he just left the letter here for me, at home._

 _Oh, and about your inquiry, yes, she is married, to an Alan Summers, and they have a son. From what I could gather it happened a few years back. He's becoming big in the Ministry, but he looked like a big git to me when I met him there last Spring. Never thought Ginny to get with that sort, he's definitely no Harry Potter. I can't honestly tell if she's happy with him or not. I can't really ask her though, can I? Well, not without giving some answers for myself at least._

 _The truth is, I don't think anyone but you and Dumbledore ever truly believed me, not after the way I left things after the war._ _So yes, you were right, I should have stayed and faced the world, but I was ashamed, and afraid, and it took me a while to come to terms with who I had been, and why I could never be that again. I came back home though, didn't I? Why don't you take a page out of your own book of advice. It might have taken me years to return, but I did after all return, even if it was with my tail between my legs._

 _Remember, bravery is in realizing that you don't always have to be brave._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

 _P.S.: I was thinking of passing by Germany in a month or so when I go to India, for the convention. Will you be in the country then? I'll send an owl when I have exact dates._

Ginny put the third letter down. Romina Ducat, that was the name of the girl in the photo, Winston Ducat's sister, and as she had guessed before, Tomas' mother. Harry and his friend, had spent what seemed like years searching for her, to no avail.

She picked up another letter from the stack and started to read.

 _Harry,_

 _I'm getting married, mate. I know it seems a little hurried, but she's great. Her name's Carla James, and I met her a couple of months ago, and I hope you're ready for this, but she's a Yank, born and bred in Virginia. I didn't tell you so I wouldn't jinx it, since she seemed too good to be true, but as it turns out, she is that perfect._

 _Mother told me she'd disowned me if I married her, because her father was a muggle, but I don't care. Besides I've got my own money, and even if I didn't, I'd still marry her._

 _She's lovely, Potter, and the best part is, she loves me. She knows all about my past, and she doesn't care. She says that it doesn't matter, that what matters is the kind of man that I am now, that that's what she loves. And I know this might sound strange coming from me, but I love her, Harry, she is my life, and my heart._

 _I want you and Tomas to met her, I'm sure you'll both love her as much as I do. I'm going to take her to Germany with me when I go next week. We were also thinking maybe we could get married there. She has no family but her brother Robin back in the States, and he agreed to go to travel to Germany if that's were we decided to marry. I think it will be great, after all, you, Tomas, and Willie are my only family besides mother, but she wouldn't go even if I imperiused her._

 _We'll be there soon, so break out the good crystal, and your best firewhiskey, the boy's becoming a man._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

Ginny didn't bother folding up this letter, before she had another one in her hands.

 _Harry,_

 _You'll never guess? I'm going to be a father. I never thought I'd be ready for this, but when Carla told me, no one could stop me. That was only a few days ago, and I've already filled the flat with toys._

 _Sorry, but I'll have to cut this letter short, I'm in a bit of a hurry now. I have to return a racing broom I bought, Carla says it's too early for that. Maybe she's right, by the time the little tyke is flying, this broom will be out of style._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

Ginny smiled. D was really excited to be a father, already thinking of the baby being a quidditch player. Harry would have probably been the same way with Charlie, if he had raised him. He would have had him on a broomstick as soon as he could rollover.

Ginny put the letter down, this time folding it carefully, guarding the memory it held in it. Taking a deep breath, she went on to the next one.

 _Harry,_

 _I'm sorry about Willie, but the years were good to her. Even when she thought she had only months, having you and Tomas by her side gave her years. Carla, Andrew, and I will be in Germany soon, to spend some time with you and Tomas, and pay our respects to Willie._

 _I'm sorry we didn't make it for her service, but I'm sure it was lovely._

 _Tell Tomas to stand strong, and that crying is a sign of courage not weakness, same goes for you, Potter. We'll see you two soon._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

Wilhelmina had died. Ginny found herself tearing up. Even though she had never known the woman, she had been the one to raise Tomas. She had been the only mother he'd had for nine years, and Harry had been there with her. She put the letter down, and took the next and last letter.

 _Harry,_

 _I'm glad you're finally deciding to come back to England. I'm sorry I won't be here when you get back, but duty calls. Don't fret though, come September I'll be back home. Carla is due anytime now, and I'll be there when my little girl is born, wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm going to be careful this time, since I almost missed being there when Andrew was born._

 _Carla and Andrew will be happy to see you two. Also, thank Tomas for the letter, and tell him that the answer is yes, he knows what I mean, and don't bother asking. I think he's getting smarter than the both of us, probably the benefits of home schooling. Of course, nothing could replace the experience of going to Hogwarts._

 _Carla sends you and Tomas kisses, and Andrew a high-five, and what I can only interpret as a robot dance, so I guess I have to as well, right? XOXOXOX_

 _Safe journey, and see you soon._

 _Your friend, most of the time,_

 _D._

Ginny put the letter down, and sighed. She looked up at Harry, peacefully sleeping on his bed, slowly breathing in and out.

She picked up the other letters, one by one, and them carefully read them a second time. There were pieces missing. A couple of the envelopes had been empty, they letter's probably having been lost a long. Still, it was there, clearly printed in black ink. When had it happened? She had never know a girl named Romina at school, and it had had to have happened at Hogwarts.

She did the math, Harry would have had to have been—then it hit her, seventeen. He had to have been seventeen when it happened. He had not been at Hogwarts when he was seventeen, he had been traveling, looking for the Horcruxes with Hermione and Ron.

Ginny got to her feet, stacking the letters together and put them in her pocket. She looked back at Harry, he was still sleeping, and he would probably sleep for a while longer.

She was about to turn around, walk away, but then she saw something. It was a piece of parchment in Harry's hand which she had not noticed before. She reached down, and carefully slipped it out of his grasp. It was another letter addressed to him, the envelope folded three times, the handwriting on it, elegant and neat.

 _Harry J. Potter._

 _367 Applegate Lane, Flat 37B._

 _Kelly's Field, England._

That was the flat Ginny and Harry had shared before he'd left. She turned the envelope around, to see who it was from.

 _Wilhelmina Ducat._

 _Were to? The House that's not there, find me if you can._

 _Dresden, Germany._

It was the same strange address where Tomas' godfather had sent the letter to in Germany. She turned to look at Harry, watched him turn in his sleep, his arm under his head.

She knew what she needed to do. She knew were she needed to go, and who she needed to speak to in order to get the answers that she needed to be certain that she was right about the conclusion she'd come to.

She quickly left the room, making sure she did not disturb Harry's sleep, as she closed the door. She walked down the hallway, then down the stairs and into the foyer. She crossed into the family room, and walked straight for the fireplace. She grabbed floo powder from the silver jar atop the mantel and stepped onto the hearth.

"The Burrow!" she called out clearly, dropping the purple powder as she said it. She was engulfed in the green flames, and took spinning towards the Burrow.


	17. Chapter 17: What Happened In Dresden?

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: WHAT HAPPENED IN DRESDEN?_**

Ginny stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow, she looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. Her parent's family room was full of people, people that as soon as she'd come through, had all stopped talking at the same time—all of them turning to look at her as if they'd seen an apparition.

"Ginny, where have you been?" her mother demanded, stepping up. "Walking off like that, and these two..." she said, pointing to her twin sons who quivered under their mother's deadly glare, "...wouldn't say anything."

"Mum we didn't—" George started.

"Where's Ron?" It was Ginny who had interrupted her brother, not Mrs. Weasley.

"Excuse me?" Molly looked away from her sons, and dropped her hands down from her hips, taken aback.

"Ron. Were is he?" Ginny asked again.

No one answered, so she sighed, and started walking, stepping around her mother as she did. Molly turned, her eyes following her daughter's progress, still slaked-mouthed. Fred and George, stepped out of their sister's way as she walked by. Even Alan looked dumbfounded, as she walked on by, completely ignoring him, and Hermione who stood to his left with Tonks. She stopped in front of Ron, who was sitting on one of the mismatched sofas at the back end of the room. He looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.

"Ginny, what do you—?" he started to ask, standing up. She didn't answer, instead she took him by the hand, and guided through their gathered family members, and out of the house into the front garden. "Ginny, what's going on?" he asked, pulling his hand out of his sister's grasp.

"We're going to my house," she said as an answer. Then, without any further explanation, she turned on the spot and disapparated with a crack.

She appeared in a small copse of trees behind her house, just a few meters beyond the fence that marked the border of the property, as well as the wards on the house. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he'd appeared, his sister had turned around, and started to make her way towards her house, he groaned annoyed. Still no explanations, just soldering on, with only her destination in mind. So unsure of what else to do, Ron followed his sister.

They walked into the house and across into the family room, towards the fireplace. Ginny took some floo powder from above her mantel and offered some to her brother.

"Really, Ginny, all this to use the floo? Couldn't we have done this from mum's?" he asked, taking some of the offered powder.

"You don't know were we're going, so we couldn't apparate, and they would have gone right after us if we flooed from mum's," she said, stepping into the fireplace. "We're going to Elk's Grove," she told him, and dropped the powder into the flames, calling out the name.

ooooo

Ginny stepped out of the fireplace, and into the family room in Elk's Grove. She waited, impatiently tapping her foot on the dark, hardwood floor. A moment later—having taken his time in deciding whether he would follow his sister or not—Ron came through. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. They were in a large family room, with tall windows in the front that opened up to a large, wooden porch. Beyond that, there was a front garden with colorful flowers and lots trees. On the backside of the family room there was an archway that opened of to a hallway, and across the hallway—centered with the archway—were a set of beautiful, dark, wooden doors.

It seemed a fine looking home from the looks of it. With its fine, dark wooden floors, and its gray painted walls. With its beautifully crafted doors, and just as fine window and door frames. It was a beautiful home, Ron thought, and it would have been more beautiful if the whole place didn't look like his twin's had been given free reign to do as they willed in it. For lack of a better word, the place was trashed.

"Where are we?" Ron asked, turning to look at his sister once he was done with his inspection of the place.

"Who's Romina Ducat?" she asked instead, stepping forward, stopping right in front of him.

Ron's eyes widened large as saucers, he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. They looked at each other, Ginny waiting for an answer, Ron not knowing how to answer her question. From the way her brother's shoulder's sagged, and he fell back onto one of the seats by the fireplace with a sigh, she knew he knew the answer, and that he'd kept it her from her, his sister, for years.

Of course he knew who Romina was. How could he not? There weren't too many people who knew that name. Even Hermione had never known about her, but he had. He had known the woman himself, and Harry had confessed everything that had happened between them years before.

"So were are we?" Ron asked again a moment later for lack of anything better to say, and he was surprised when she actually answered him.

"Harry's home," she simply said. He looked up at her, and then back down at his hands. It made sense, that she would bring him there, that she would take him to the place where the three of them could finally come face-to-face, finally ask all the questions they'd been waiting years to ask, and most of all, finally get some answers. "So, Romina Ducat?" Ginny repeated. Ron looked up at her, almost confused. He'd almost forgotten she'd even asked him about Romina at all.

"Were did you hear that name?" he asked, when he'd finally found his bearings.

"So you _do_ know who she is?" she said, her eyes burning with bewilderment, and resentment for being left in the dark for so many years.

If you considered that because of Romina—in a way—Harry had left Ginny, she should have been told. Yes, Harry should have told her from the get go, but he was gone for a long time, he didn't have to look at her every day and still keep his secret, but Ron? Her brother had been there the whole time. He'd seen her suffer, seen her waste her life away filled with resentment, and anger, and even confusion, yet he'd said nothing.

"Just tell me who she is, or was," she said, this time more pleading than demanding. "I already know, mostly, I just need you to confirm it," she said, sitting down on the other arm chair, still looking at her brother, waiting for his answer.

"Ginny, I'm sorry. I know I should have told you a long time ago," Ron finally confessed, the guilt he'd been hoarding for years, starting to come lose.

"We're past being sorry, Ron. Just tell me." Ginny said, leaning closer to him.

"Okay. Alright," Ron said, shifting his weight on the arm chair, trying to find a comfortable position but failing. "Harry and I were in Germany," he started without any further objections. Ginny nodded, and leaned back into her seat. "Hermione had been injured during the discovery of the third Horcrux, in Denmark. We couldn't stop, we were so close to finding the fourth, so she convinced us to leave her there, in the hospital, to recuperate. So we did, and Harry and I went on to Germany were we knew Voldemort had been years before.

"Our connection there was Winston Ducat and his sister, Romina. Their parents had been in the Order of the Phoenix years before, and now both Winston and Romina, were continuing the fight." Ron stopped to collect his thoughts for a moment.

"What happened then?" Ginny pushed on.

"Well, we found it with their help, the Horcrux, but Romina was injured during the process of retrieving it. I had to go back to Denmark for Hermione—it had been almost a month since we left her there—but Harry stayed behind. Hermione and I met Harry in Berlin two weeks later." He turned to his sister, and she was staring at him, still determined to get the answers she wanted. Ron sighed, and continued. "She was in love with him, Ginny, and he was lonely. She was sweet, and pretty, and good to him, and he found himself thinking he could love her too. He'd convinced himself that being with her wouldn't put her in any more danger than she already was. That with him or without him she wouldn't be any safer, not with the life she led with the Order."

Ron looked away from his sister. He had known about Romina for sixteen years, and he'd always suspected that Harry had gone back to her, and in the process abandoned his sister. From the very first time Ron had set eyes on Tomas, in St. Mungus, he'd known that he was her son. The way the boy smiled, Ron had seen that smile in Romina, and Harry had once told him that that smile had made him feel safe. When they'd been told Tomas was adopted, he'd immediately known it was a lie, because he'd also seen a lot of Harry in the boy. Maybe that had been the reason for the love affair between Harry and Romina, that he had felt safe with her, like he'd never felt before in his life.

Ginny stood up, and walked across the room towards the front windows looking out onto the trees. After a moment, Ron stood up as well and walked to her. He touched her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. He sat down, guiding her down to sit besides him on the sofa.

"He told me he regretted it—almost immediately. I told him… I told him to forget about it, to forget about her, to come back to you, that I would keep his secret," Ron said. Then his face lit up with a sudden rush of anger, "I kept his secret, and still he left you. If he loved you as much as he claimed to, he wouldn't have left you, not for her, not for anyone else," Ron said, his hands in fists, slamming down on his lap as he said it.

Now Ginny saw it. She finally understood why Ron had been so angry at Harry, more so than anyone else. Why he had never said anything to anyone, about what he had always suspected was the reason for Harry's disappearance. In his mind, Harry had run off, chasing after some woman, and in the process left his sister behind, alone, and with a child on the way.

"So now what?" Ron said in anger, "now she sends him packing, and he decides, _I know a couple of fools who'll take me in._ I will not be made a fool, and I won't allow you to be made into one either. Let him go back to his woman, we don't need him here—not anymore."

She waited a moment, allowing Ron to voice his grievances, but it seemed however, that her brother was done for now, because he didn't say anything else.

"I don't think that's why he left," she told him, handing him the stack of envelopes. He raised an eyebrow. "Read," she instructed him.

Ron took the letters, and obliged. He opened the first envelope to read, as Ginny took the last letter she had found in Harry's hand, out of her other pocket and opened it. The handwriting here was more delicate, and the name at the bottom closed it not with D, and his witty remarks, but with a neat signature.

 _Harry;_

 _My name is Wilhelmina. We met once in Germany, I was engaged to Winston Ducat at the time, and you knew his younger sister, Romina._ _Winston passed away some months ago, you probably heard about that in the papers. But what you probably didn't hear, was_ _that Romina disappeared some months before that. It was kept hushed, due to the nature of her job. To protect her contacts, including yourself._

 _At the end, before she disappeared, she was scared for her life, and Winston and I were sure she was taken by death eaters, and that we will never see her again. I know you cared for her, and I know she cared for you, so I'm sad to tell you this, specially in this way._

 _As sad as this news must be for you, it is not the main reason I'm writing you. Harry, she's left a child behind, his name is Tomas, and he's almost two. Winston and I promised to take care of him if anything happened to her, but now Winston is gone, and I've taken ill. The healers say it could be months, they don't know, but they are sure I will pass. I don't want to risk leaving my little nephew alone._

 _The truth is, Harry, that the real reason I am writing to you, and not anyone else, is Tomas. He is a Potter, Harry, he's your son. I know this must be a shock to you. This shouldn't be the way to find out you have a child, and you should have been told about him since Romina found out she was expecting. But understand the life that you and Romina have lived; always in danger, always on the lookout. Romina thought he would be safer if no one, not even yourself, knew he was your son, but now things have changed, and once I'm gone, he'll have no one else left but you, his father._

 _So here I am, begging that you come to Germany for your son. You know were to find us, I'm in Romina's home in Dresden, in that place only you can find._

 _I hope this letter reaches you—this is the only address I found of yours—I hope you'll come to my call, to our call._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Wilhelmina Ducat._

She put the letter down, Ron had just started reading the second letter from the stack she'd given him. She quietly passed the letter she was holding to him. He looked up at her, she nodded for him to take it, so he took it, putting the one he had in his hands down, and started to read it.

As she stared into nothing, she thought about everything. Tomas _was_ Harry's son. She had known that already in a way, but it had been more of a strong suspicion, not a definite. Harry had left home, _left her_ , to take care of Tomas, and she couldn't blame him for that. He had also gone to search for the boy's mother, and take care of an ailing woman.

Still, she couldn't help feeling that small amount of lingering resentment. Even though his reasons had been pure-hearted, he had still abandoned her, but even worse, he had abandoned their son. If he had just returned, she wouldn't have cared about any of it, not about Tomas, not about Romina. She would have helped with caring for the boy's sick aunt. She would have taken Tomas as her own; she would raised him, and loved him, and they would have been a family, and Charlie would have had his father, and a brother to grow with.

Maybe he had thought of returning once, but who ever Tomas' godfather was, had told Harry about Ginny's marriage to Alan, and about Charlie. He had probably felt he was better off being away, taking care of the only son, he thought he had.

"Ginny?"

Ron was talking to her, but she wasn't paying attention, she was caught in her revolving thoughts. Should she be angry for what had happened with Tomas' mother? she asked herself. No, they had not been together when he'd met Romina. He had ended it with Ginny the summer before, and they had only gotten back together when he returned to England, in the middle of his quest for the Horcruxes.

After the war had ended, Harry had proposed to her, and she had accepted, and the whole family had been overcome with joy. He'd bought them a flat, and they'd moved in together. They were happy, very happy, until the day he found out that the girl he'd had a brief affair with years before, had bore him a son, a son who now needed his protection. Harry, who had been orphaned so young, could probably not bear the thought of his child feeling as alone as he'd felt growing up, with no one to love him like a parent would.

She didn't want to be angry with him, still, she couldn't help feeling bitter; she had been abandoned after all, and with a child of her own. In that single act of leaving, of not telling her his reasons, Harry had left her bare, and vulnerable to the destructive behavior she'd drowned herself in, in order to not feel the hurt. Even if she did not blame him for her weakness, or her choices—which she didn't—he had been the catalyst that had started her on that path.

She put her head down on her hands. Her life was once again diving, head-first, into a bottomless abyss. She was falling, and she knew she would eventually crash. She had fallen like this before, and the outcome had always been life wrecking. But this time, the abyss was wider, deeper, and the results of this fall were sure to be more devastating than ever before.

She heard the front door open, she quickly picked up her head, and took the letters from Ron's hands and stuffed them into her pocket. Realizing what was happening, and taking a cue from his sister, Ron reached for the letter on the table, and hid them before Tomas had entered the room.

"Tomas," she said, with a smile.

"Is dad okay?" he asked, looking with worried confusion at Ron, who had stood up with an awkward expression on his face as the boy entered.

"He's fine, he's sleeping," she assured him, walking closer to him, "I just thought I get some help to clean this place up," she added, pointing to her brother, who nodded his head in agreement.

"Oh, well in that case, I guess I'm back on time to help." He smiled, taking off his coat and draping it over one of the sofas.

"Yes, you are. Why don't we get started. There's a lot of work to be done here," she said, putting a hand around Tomas' shoulder, and giving him another smile.

ooooo

Ron, Ginny, and Tomas spent the afternoon cleaning Elk's Grove. Ginny made sure she put an imperturbable charm around Harry's room so he wouldn't be disturbed by their cleaning. She'd walked upstairs to check on him a couple of times, but he'd been asleep every single one of them. She'd picked the clothes from around his room, as quietly as she could and took them downstairs to wash with all the other clothes.

It was night by the time they finished, by then the only thing left unclean in Elk's Grove, was Harry and the bed he laid on. Ginny dried the last dish, as Ron and Tomas sat at the white table in the breakfast nook, drinking butterbeers.

She had sent Tomas and Ron shopping to Diagon Alley for some food and other things they needed. They had just returned fifteen minutes before, after having purchased the last item on the list she'd given them. Finally, the ice box in Elk's Grove was full, and Tomas and Harry would have something to eat that wasn't cheese and ham sandwiches. Which according to Tomas was all they'd been eating.

"I guess there isn't much to hide anymore," Tomas said as he looked down at his butterebeer.

"I think it looks nice in here," Ron said looking around at the very organized, clean kitchen.

Tomas laughed. "Yeah, thank you—both of you," he said with a smile. "That's not what I meant though," he said, the smile slipping from his lips.

"What are we talking about?" Ginny said, drying her hands on a dish towel as she sat next to her brother on one of the long benches.

Tomas raised his hand and held up one of the letters Ginny had taken from Harry's room, the one that Wilhelmina had written. How could they have been so careless? It was not up to them to let Tomas know Harry was his real father, it was up to him. When had the letter been dropped?

"Tomas, I am sorry. We didn't mean to—" Ginny started, but Tomas interrupted.

"Don't apologize," Tomas said looking up, and waving a hand. "There's a reason why we've kept things this way. Why people think Willie was my mother, and Winston my father. Don't get me wrong, Willie _was_ my mum, the only one I've ever known. I know Romina was my mother, but to me she is just stories, and photographs. Just a word, an understanding, nothing more."

Ginny and Ron couldn't say anything as the boy spoke.

"They killed my mother because she wouldn't tell them of her mission with Harry…with dad. So when he went for me, after uncle Winston died, he made me invisible, just like mother had wanted. But he looked for her, he looked for her until Willie asked him to stop. I've always knew he was my dad, from the very beginning, but I couldn't tell anyone. On the outside world, outside our four walls, before we came to England, he didn't exist, I had no father to show anyone, all I had was a secret.

"But now, now I can tell anyone, and does it matter? Have you seen him? I think he's become the invisible one now," he said as he placed the letter on the table.

"We'll be fine," Tomas said standing up, suddenly a pepped up tone in his voice. "We've always made it through, even through the worst of times, me and dad." He looked over and smiled at them, "thank you for helping," he said.

"Tomas," Ginny said softly, standing up, and walking around the table to stand closer to him.

"I understand, Ginny. You're protecting your son… my brother," Tomas said sadly, "Its not good for you to be involved with us. It's not good for any of you. I truly do understand and I'll never hold it against you, and trust me, neither will dad." The boy stood there for a moment, staring at the ground.

"I'll speak to him," she said finally, glancing up towards the area of the house were Harry slept.

"It's late," Ron said tentatively.

"It's okay, Ron. I'll be fine, go home to your family," Ginny said to her brother.

"But I—" Ron argued, getting to his feet, but she stopped him.

"Go on, everything will be fine," she assured her brother with a soft smile. "Besides, I got Tomas here, he'll take my side in any argument, won't you, Tomas?" she said looking down at the young man.

"Always," he said with a half-smile.

"You see? Go, I'll be fine, but you, you need sleep so you can get up for work tomorrow morning."

"I guess. Alright, but if anything, anything at all happens, you floo me, promise?" Ron said, leaning in to give his sister a hug, and a peck on the cheek.

"I promise."

Ron left Elk's Grove, still not too sure if he was doing what was right. Harry didn't seem to be at his best, and leaving Ginny alone with him, with only a boy as intermediate, didn't seem right. Either way he'd left, on Ginny's insistence that she would be just fine.


	18. Chapter 18: The-Boy-Who-Left

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE-BOY-WHO-LEFT_**

She opened the door to Harry's room, walked in and stopped. He was sitting up in bed, staring out the window before him. He'd pulled the blinds opened, and the moon filled the room with silver light. She stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at him as he sat there, just staring out into the dark night unblinkingly. She could see him clearly there bathed in light, his hair towel dried, and messy, no glasses on. He'd bathed, shaved, and changed into clean sleeping clothes.

She closed the door, and cleared her throat.

"So I guess you know now. About Tomas, about... everything," he said after a moment.

"I do," she answered, and crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed.

"Do you still have them, the letters? If you do, I would like them back."

She took the letters out of her pocket, and leaned forward to placed them next to him on the bed. He turned slightly, and grabbed them.

"Thank you," he muttered, opening the drawer of the night-side table next to him, and gingerly placing the letters inside before sliding the drawer close.

"I'm sorry, about reading them. I just needed—I needed to know for sure," Ginny spoke.

"I get it, and it's alright," he said, finally turning to look at her. "You know, if I would have known about Charlie, I would have come back for you. I didn't, because I thought you would have hated me for it—for _her_ I mean," he sighed deeply, "but I could never leave my son, neither one of them now."

Maybe she would have been angry, maybe she would have screamed, and stomped her feet and called him a bastard, but she'd loved him, and she would have forgiven him in the end. That he thought she would have hated him was beyond comprehension. How little had he known her that he thought her capable of such feelings towards him? Maybe too little, she thought. He'd been nineteen, and still a boy in many ways, and maybe their love was stuck in time in that juvenile stage were everything they did would start and end the world.

"No, I wouldn't have hated you," she said sadly, "and I never would have expected you to give up Tomas, but you have to understand, things can't just go back to the way they were before you left. What's done is done, and we can't go back, no matter how much we may want to."

"So you do want to?" Harry said expectantly.

"Harry, please," Ginny said.

"I know you love me. I know... I know you don't love him, yet you stay with him," Harry said. Those words, they hit her hard in that painful place were she kept her memories of _him_ , of Daniel. Daniel who had said almost the exact same words to her that last day they'd spent together. She shook her head to clear her mind of him. She had to remind herself that Harry wasn't Daniel. Daniel was gone, and Harry was his own person.

"Me loving you is not the problem here. We have a son, and that means something, but I have a husband now, and a life with him, a life that has taken me a long time to finally get into some kind of order.

"Alan has been patient, and understanding. He's stayed even when I did things that would have sent any man running. That means something, Harry, that kind of loyalty. The fact that he's been there for me when no one else was, that he's stuck it out, _means_ something," she said.

"Loyalty? That's rubbish, and you know it. How could you stay with someone you don't love?" he said, looking down at his hands.

"Because that's all he's ever asked of me, loyalty, and I couldn't give him that for a every long time. So now I'm doing the only thing I can to make up for it, which is stay with him, try my best for him, for my son. I owe him that much. So I'm asking you, please, if you truly do love me, just accept that and move on, and _enough_ of this self-pity.

"Just take care of yourself, eat without being asked to, leave this house for God's sake, and go back to work. You need to get on with your life, if not for you, for your son. Tomas is suffering for you and that's not right. He's only a boy, and he feels alone, and he's scared, and he want to help you, but he doesn't know what to do," she told him. This time Harry stayed quiet. Ginny closed her eyes, putting a hand to her face and sighing. "I know I can't expect you to give up being in Charlie's life," Ginny said, Harry turned to look at her. "Things happened, and you left, and I accept that, and I can't blame you, not for most of it."

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked bewildered.

"It means that you had a right to change your mind, and not marry me. You had a right to leave, to make another life for yourself that didn't evolve me—but you can't deny that you at least owed me the courtesy of letting me know you were leaving."

"You know why I left," Harry said, standing up.

"That's not the point, and you know it. I don't begrudge you Tomas, or even Romina—we weren't together, we hadn't been for months by the time you met her. What I resent is that you weren't brave enough to tell me you were leaving me."

"So I'm a coward now?" Harry said, his voice rising in anger, even though he wasn't really angry at her, but himself. The truth was, that deep down he had always felt like a coward for what he'd done to her, and he still did. But the thought that she, the only woman he'd ever loved, thought of him as such was suddenly unbearable, and had made him react unreasonably.

"I'm not here to argue," Ginny warned.

"You're not? You sure as hell sound like it. You say you don't begrudge me Romina, but you obviously do, because you're unwilling to give me another chance."

"Another chance? Listen to yourself, it's like you haven't heard a word I've said. I'm not leaving my husband, Harry, and that's that. You're not the first man who's tried to railroad my life for their supposed love, but I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't let that happen again."

"The first? Who else is there?!" Harry said, his hands in fists. Ginny laughed incredulously at his words, and turned away from him. Harry grabbed her by the arm, to try to turn her to face him, but she harshly pulled her arm out of his grasp.

"There's no way in hell, I'm answering that," she told him.

"You say that you can't be with me because you owe your husband loyalty, yet there's others? So basically, its any man but me?"

"How dare you?" Ginny growled taking a step back. "I have many sins, Harry Potter, and I've paid dearly for all of them, but at least I'm willing to accept them, and owe up to them. Alan has forgiven me for my indiscretions, but you—even if there were twenty others right now, I have only my husband to answer to, not the boy who left me fourteen years ago," she said with a grimace of disgust.

"You at least owe me—"

"I owe you nothing!" she screamed, tears of anger finally falling. Harry stepped back, his eyes wide, his hands falling limply at his side. He looked down, lost, and raked a hand through his dark hair.

"I don't answer to you, and you have no right to ask anything, you lost that privilege a long time ago."

Harry turned away, now both hands up behind his neck. He paced across the room away from her, and stopped on the other side of the bed.

"I fought for our love, even when you so effortlessly gave it up. I loved you, so I gave you the benefit of a doubt, and waited for you until I couldn't bare the shame any longer. The shame of how weak, how pathetic I was for waiting for a man who no longer wanted me. A man who was not brave enough to tell me to my face he didn't want me any longer—"

"I've always wanted you!"

"You're blind, and your selfish, and yes, you are a coward," she said between gritted teeth. She stopped, turned away, and then turned back as if pulled by an indescribable force, and then she was screaming, "Fourteen years I've felt this! Fourteen years all I knew was that I wasn't good enough to be told why I was being left! Fourteen years, feeling like I wasn't worth the effort! Fourteen years I've lived with this doubt, this self-hate, this believed that I was somehow disposable, and not worth it!"

She stopped for a moment, but not long, she was on a roll. Like her brother earlier that day, she was finally able to release all that anger she'd been holding in. She was finally able to say everything she'd felt over the last fourteen years, to finally tell Harry what he'd done to her. She continued to speak, quickly and decisively, her voice more tempered.

"I'm trying to tell you, but you refuse to hear me. This is all about you, isn't it? It's always been just about you, and if I had known that back then, then I would have realized you were the one that wasn't worth the effort." She stopped. She was done, and Harry felt as if he'd been hit in the gut by one of the massive branches of the Whomping Willow.

Ginny could see she'd hit a chord. Harry had gone pale, his mouth slacked, and half opened, his eyes filling with tears that threatened to fall. He swallowed, looked down at his feet, but seemed unable to said anything. He was ashamed, and confused, and it was clear as day, and she was glad that he felt a little bit of that shame, of that loss that she'd felt for so long.

"I just," Harry mumbled after a moment. "I thought I was doing what was right," he said bewildered.

"You know what, I can't," Ginny said raising one hand, finally having had enough of him, and everything else. "I'm sorry for Tomas, he's a good boy and he deserves better, but I just can't. I really did try, but if you can't get beyond your own pain and see this from anyone else's perspective, then this conversation is over," she said, and she stalked towards the bedroom door.

Harry looked up and saw her, and it seemed as if her leaving had caused him to finally react. Making a quick decision, he crossed the room in a few strides, putting himself between Ginny and the door, his hands up.

"Wait, wait."

"Get out of my way, Harry," Ginny warned, pulling her wand from her pocket, and gripping it tightly in her hand.

"You're right," he breathed out. "You're right and I'm sorry. I have been a coward, and I've been selfish, and I'm sorry, but please know, and I hope you believe me, you are not, and never have been disposable." He gave her a moment, and her tight grip on the wand loosened. "I'll listen, and I'll try to understand, and I won't judge, I can promise you that much. If at the end of it all, you still think its best to stay with your husband, then I'll accept it, and our relationship will be only the one that has to do with our son." He bit his bottom lip, and swallowed, and waited for his answer, hoping that it wasn't a hex to the face.

After a moment, Ginny's posture relaxed, and she sighed. She put her wand back into her pocket, closing her eyes, she nodded. Harry sighed relived.


	19. Chapter 19: A Man I Could Have Loved

_*All characters events, locations, and things, belonging to the Harry Potter world, are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them to write these stories of mine. Everything else, is my creation._

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER NINETEEN: A MAN I COULD HAVE LOVED_**

Slowly, calmly, she woke from her sleep with a sigh, groggily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She yawned, and looked up, and just staring unblinkingly at the white ceiling above. After a moment, she closed her eyes tightly in discomfort, and put her hands to her face and grunted in indignation. This was the worse feeling to wake up to, and it was one she unfortunately new quite well. At that moment, there was the sensation that her head was getting pounded on by jackhammers, and that her insides... well, her insides didn't seem to be very happy being inside, and currently seemed to be plotting an escape.

She turned her head and found the clock on the night side table. She stared at the numbers, blurry from her still sleepy eyes. She rubbed at her eyes again, and tried to focus again on the time, and after a few seconds the numbers became clear. It was eleven in the morning. Work started at nine. She was beyond late.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, shooting up in bed.

"What's wrong?"

She almost fell, tripping on the covers as she clumsily stood up, and turned to face the bed and the person in it. Her mouth was open, but no sound came from it. Her eyes were wide, as she walked back, away from the bed, away from him. She tripped on something, and managed to regain her balance. She looked down, and saw that she wore nothing. All she had was the sheet from the bed, which she was somehow holding onto, gripped in her fists. She pulled at it, almost falling again as she tried pull it free from under her foot. Finally, she managed to free it, and quickly made work of wrapping it around herself. She turned, her hand going up to her head, as she faced the window, away from him.

"What did—what did?" she mouthed, barely audible.

She had woken up unsure of anything, but now completely awake, she saw everything. She was in Harry's room, she'd woken up next to him, both of them completely naked, specially Harry now that Ginny had taken the sheet off the bed to cover up her own nudity.

"Calm down, Gin—" Harry tried, sitting up in bed.

"Calm down? Calm down?! What are you think—? What were—what was I—? Oh God, oh God, what did I do?" she cried out turning to him, looking at him, at his worried face as he sat there watching her with something like pity. She put her hand up to her mouth and moaned, as suddenly every of the night before came rushing back to her. Every word, every touch, every smile, and caress, they all came at once.

She looked around, looking for help that was just not there. She stood there for a moment, in panicked-silence, and then as if she couldn't think of anything else to do, she jumped forward, reached for her wind which she'd noticed on the floor near his feet. Harry jumped back startled, falling back on his elbows. A second later Ginny was back in the spot she'd been before, a few feet from the window, now holding the wand against her chest like an amulet against evil.

"I just need to—" she muttered to herself, taking deep breaths, stepping further and further away from him. Harry straightened himself, and followed her across the room with his eyes. She stopped, looking down at her wand, then towards one of the windows. He debated whether he should say anything or stay quiet. Ginny raised her free hand, raking her messed hair, almost pulling at it.

"No, no, no..." she muttered over, and over again, as she squeezed the back of her neck. "This isn't me, not anymore. Ginny what did you do?" she said to herself, her hand again going to her forehead.

"Just calm down," Harry had started saying, but she wasn't listening to him; she seemed deaf to his words, and blind to everything around her. She was muttering to herself like a madwoman, consumed by the ever rising panic. "Stop it!" he finally said, raising his voice so that he would be heard above her rantings.

At his words her hand dropped, and she looked up, her eyes wide with... well he wasn't really sure what emotion he was seeing exactly. For all he knew she was about to scream, cry, hex him, or maybe throttle him over the head with her fists. Instead of any of that, she did the unexpectable; her breath hitched, as if she'd lost her breath, and then without warning, she turned on the spot and disapparated with a crack.

"No!"

Now it was time for Harry to panic. He shot up from bed, reaching for his pajama pants on the floor. He had not had the time, nor the desire to put any wards on this house since Tomas and he had moved in. He walked as fast as he could while pulling his trousers up, balancing himself so he wouldn't trip as he made his way across the room, and out onto the second floor landing.

"Dammit!" he cried out, "goddammit!" If he had just taken the time out of his self-loathing, to put anti-apparating wards on his home, he would not be in this situation.

"What's wrong?" Tomas had stuck his head out of his bedroom door just as Harry took one step down the stairs. He was fully dressed, barefooted, and holding a textbook, a weary look on his face, as Harry turned to face him, his hand on the banister.

"Nothing... nothings wrong," Harry said, "you go back to your studies," he told his son. Tomas didn't look very convinced that nothing was wrong, still, he did as he was told and stepped back into his room, closing the door and leaving Harry alone in the hallway.

"Shit," Harry muttered, as he started to descend the stairs quickly. Nothing good would come from this. He had to find her, they had to talk. He wouldn't let this end like this, not again, not after what had happened between them. He would not lose her, or his son, not this time. He would not be a coward, not now, not ever again.

ooooo

"Dammit, dammit!"

She hadn't even know she'd done it until she landed, almost tripping as her feet hit the cool grass in front of the Burrow. She held on to her sheet for dear life, as she landed on her knees, her free hand stopping her face from hitting the ground. "Bloody hell!" she screamed again. She got to her feet, her sheet now covered in dirt, one knee skinned, and bleeding. She didn't notice any of it, not the dirt, not the injury, she just looked frantically from side-to-side.

What was she going to do? She hadn't gone home last night, and she should have been at work two hours before. Even with everything, she'd rarely ever been late to work, even less without calling in with a reason for her tardiness or absence. Alan would call the office of course—if he hadn't already—they told him she wasn't there, then he would call her parents, and then her mother would panic, and her father would call her brothers, and... oh God, what was she going to do?

She looked across the garden to her parent's home. First things first, she thought, she was too exposed standing there in her sheet, she needed to find a place to hide, and gather herself, and come up with a plan. The Garage was too close to the house, and the house itself was out of the question. Were else was there? She looked across the expanse of garden that surrounded the Burrow. Then she saw it, her father's shed, yes that was the perfect place. No one but her father went in there, and her father would be at work.

She grabbed tightly onto her sheet, and ran across the garden towards the shed, hissing in pain every time a sharp, little pebble dug into the bottom of her bare feet. She stopped short in front of the padlocked door, and raised her wand. The lock popped open, and she removed it in one quick movement, before quickly stepping in.

Once she was safely inside she sighed with relief, dropping the lock on a wooden counter bellow the only window—a grimy, little thing that faced the house. There she was, as safe as she was going to be; that was, if no one had spotted her as she'd sprinted across the garden in her sheet.

She looked around the dark, stuffy place, trying to find something to wear, anything. It was a little dark too see, still she didn't dare pull at the dangling chain for the bare, hanging light bulb in the middle of the shed, or use her wand for light. She leaned the hand holding the wand down on the counter behind her. She let go of the wand, and started tapping her fingers nervously on the rough, wooden top as she thought.

She looked out the window one more time at the Burrow, then back down with a frustrated grunt, punching the counter with a fist, making a bolt roll off of it, fall to the ground, and then roll across the floor. She followed the bolt's progression across the room until it disappeared under a cabinet laden with all kinds of muggle gadgets. She stared at the dusty concrete floor, and then looked up at the wooden beams above. She needed to find something to put on, anything. The only place were she would find something was inside the house, but it was mid-morning on a Monday, and if no one else was home, her mother would be. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

She would just have to take a chance and go into the house. If she was caught—well she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. She was about to take her leap of courage across the garden, when she felt something pulling at her sheet. She looked down.

She blinked a couple of times to make sure she was really seeing him. She hadn't even heard the creaking of the shed's door as it opened, or the pattering of shoes as he'd approached, but sure enough there he stood—all three-and-a-half-feet of him, red hair, and bright, brown eyes. Eyes which were currently staring up at her in bewilderment. Kyle.

ooooo

 _Kyle had never come upon one of his relatives wondering the garden in the nude. Well, not unless you counted the time Uncle Fred jinxed Uncle Percy's pants off, during an argument they were having. That had been a great day, even dad had agreed._

 _He was sitting in the family room, playing along the windowsill with his auror figurines, when his aunt appear beyond the property limit of the Burrow. He'd seen her fall, and then yell something that he couldn't hear, but was sure had been a bad word. Adults often yelled bad words when they got hurt, but kids weren't allowed to do the same. It wasn't very fair, but that's just the way the world worked; kids never had it fair._

 _He'd been about to call for his gran, when she came in carrying a screaming Stan from the back garden._ _He looked back out the window, and saw that his aunt was now running across the garden, holding what looked like a sheet around herself. She ran to granddad's shed, pointed her wand at the lock, and ran in, closing the door behind her._

 _Adults made no sense. What was his aunt up to? Was this some crazy prank? No, he didn't think so. Aunt Ginny wasn't a prankster, specially one who'd run through the garden without her clothes._

 _The only thing he could come up with was that she'd forgotten to do the wash, and now she'd come to Gran's to get some clean clothes to wear. That was the most reasonable possibility to why she had no clothes on, but not to why she'd hide in the shed. Well, he had no idea, but what he did know was that when he was hiding from his mum, he didn't want anyone to tell her were he was. Dwight always told, and then he'd say it was for his own good. Yeah right!_

 _Aunt Ginny was hiding from Gran, who was_ her _mum, and even though his aunt was already pretty old, he didn't think she'd be any different than him, not when it came to the hiding-from-mum department._

 _He turned around and Gran was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to hold Stan down, but his brother was now bawling in pain, trying to get away from her as she held her wand up at his leg._

 _"Sit still, Stanley, it won't hurt if you stop moving," his gran assured his brother, but Stan didn't listen, and kept struggling._

 _Then and there he made up his mind, and taking advantage of the fact that Gran was preoccupied with his squirming, crying brother, Kyle slipped out of the front door, unnoticed by both Gran and Stan._

ooooo

"Did you sleep in here?" Kyle asked with curiosity. He knew she hadn't slept in the shed of course, but it was smart to play dumb, and innocent with adults sometimes. It was surprising how often that worked in your favor.

"I did."

"So why were you running from out there?" He pointed out towards the place she had apparated, "and how come you have no clothes on?" he added. _That_ he was actually curious about. Well, he guess he'd be embarrassed too if he had to leave his house naked because he forgot to do the wash.

"Well I was just—where's Gran?" she asked, changing the subject.

"In the kitchen," he said. "Aren't you cold with just that?"

"A little, yes," she answered. "So… what's Gran doing?" she asked, turning her head to look out the small window again.

"She's patching up Stan. I think he fell from the apple tree trying to catch Rupert," he informed his aunt.

"I see," she replied barely listening, still looking out the window. "Wait, who's Rupert?" she said turning to him, eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

"The gnome who lives in the the apple tree. Stan's always falling down trying to catch him. You'd think by now he'd given up, but that's Stan for you. Dwight says he's relentless," the boy said with a little shrug. Ginny laughed a little.

Ginny laughed. "He sure is," she said. There was no better word to describe her nephew; the boy never gave up, even when it meant breaking something in the process, and because of that he did a lot of falling down. Thankfully her mother had a lot experience in that department. With six boys, and one very rambunctious girl, Molly had done a lot of healing in her time. A lot of bones had been mended inside those walls, many bleeding noses had been dried, and burnt hair re-grown.

"You weren't sleeping in the shed. I'm six-and-a-half you know, not daft," the boy finally told his aunt.

Ginny sighed. "Of course your not, darling," Ginny smiled fondly at her nephew. She'd lost a battle of the wits to a six year old. That was almost as sad as it was to be standing in a shed wearing nothing but a dirt-covered sheet.

"I don't have to say anything," the boy declared a moment later, looking towards the house.

"You don't?" Ginny said surprised, looking at the child.

"Nope."

"Well that's great, I would really appreciate that." Kyle nodded. "You know," Ginny continued. Now that Kyle was there, she realized how fortunate she was that she'd been found by him, "If you were to get me something to put on from the house, without letting Gran know, I might be inclined to buy you that new dragon toy you want."

"Rocco the Furious?!" Kyle said exactly.

"That's the one," Ginny answered. If it took one Rocco the Furious to win her nephew's help, then one Rocco the Furious it was, but if she had to guess, he probably would have done it for nothing at all.

Kyle cleared his throat, toned down the excitement, and composed himself, putting a hand to his chin in thought. It was a great trade of course, but he'd learn from mum not to accept too fast—even if he really wanted it—people tricked you that way. A moment later, deciding he'd spend enough time making believe to think it over, he nodded his agreement, and they shook on it.

Kyle left the shed, and ran across the front garden towards the house, skipping with joy. Ginny looked out the window again, watching as her nephew entered the house. Once the front door had closed behind the little boy, she turned away from the window, and sat on a wooden stool her father kept in the shed by the counter. She looked down at her knee finally noticing the injury. She pointed her wand at it, and uttered the spell to heal at, and sighed in relief as new skin grew over the shredded one. She wiped the remaining dirt with a corner of the sheet. She was done in a moment, and suddenly found that she had nothing else to do. Nothing else that wasn't waiting, and thinking, and remembering. She remembered it now alright, all of it. Everything that had happened the night before was as clear as if it were happening right at that moment.

ooooo

 _She'd stood by the window looking out into the night, Harry behind her, sitting at the edge of his bed, looking up at her back. The moonlight lit her, surrounded her in a glow. Harry watched the way her shoulders moved up and down as she took deep, steady breaths. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her to him, to reassure her that everything would be alright, but he didn't. She needed this time. She needed to say, and feel what she was feeling at that moment so that she might finally be able to get some closure. He owed her that much at least._

 _"At first I thought that maybe you'd just lost your way," she started to speak, he straightened up as he listened. "That all the loss we had suffered during the war was just too much to handle. I thought that maybe you just needed some time away... on your own," Ginny said taking a deep breath._

 _She exhaled, and turned to him, and Harry nodded in quiet understanding. She looked at him for a moment, and he smiled slightly, she smiled back a little sadly. He patted a spot on the bed next to him, and after a moment, Ginny obliged and walked over to sit by him, but instead of looking at him as she continued to speak, she looked back out towards the windows, and the night beyond it._

 _"You know, there's something almost no one knows—no one beyond my family at least—but a few weeks after you left, I become worried for you. I knew… or maybe I thought I knew, that you weren't the kind of man who would just leave me, not like that at least." Harry looked down at his hands and swallowed, feeling a twinge of shame. She noticed, but still she continued to speak. "I went looking for you, but then I found out about Charlie, so I returned home." For a moment, they both sat in silence, Ginny looking at the window, Harry looking down at his hands._

 _"Were did you go?" Harry asked after a moment, "looking for me, I mean." Ginny looked down at his hands which he was still staring intently at, an then back up at the window as she answered._

 _"Scotland, Ireland, Whales, and then Italy. I remember how you once told me you wanted to visit Italy one day, so I thought maybe you'd gone there." She stopped and turned to look at him. "Did you ever get to go?" she asked him._

 _He looked up, and nodded. "Not on vacation though. I took Wilhelmina there, to visit a doctor, and a couple of times for work," he answered._

 _She nodded her understanding but said nothing. After a moment, she looked at the window again, gathering more courage to continue speaking. She cleared her throat, and then started to speak again, her gaze averting to her own fidgeting hands._

 _"You asked me about the other men in my life," she started, but Harry raised a hand to stop her, shaking his head._

 _"No, Ginny, you were right. I had no right to ask, and there's no reason for me to know what you did or do in your private life."_

 _"I know you don't. Still, you need to know some of it, if you're to understand what I'm going to tell you," she told him, looking away from her hands, and up at him, their eyes meeting._

 _"Only if you're sure," he told her._

 _She nodded, slowly exhaling._ _"I'm sure." She stopped for a moment, thinking, again trying to collect her thoughts and organize them, trying to figure out the best place to start. The beginning was always a good place, she thought. She turned her body, so that she faced him straight on, one of her legs folded on top of the bed, he did the same so that their bodies faced each other._

 _"There have been other men, over the years_ — _other men that weren't my husband. Over time Alan became cold, and distant, and it never occurred to me that he knew about any of them... but he did. He knew the whole time we were married, which explained his change towards me. The more distant he became, the more I told myself it was alright, that he didn't care. Eventually I found out that it was my actions that had made him so. Only once did he confronted me about it, and I didn't deny it, and still he stayed._

 _"After a while I just felt empty... void, and they filled something inside of me that was ugly, hateful, and resentful. I wanted to get back at Alan for being so understanding, and so noble, and so much better than me. I wanted to get back at the people who judged me and called me names behind my back, and to my face sometimes. I wanted to get back at the friends who no longer called me. I wanted to get back at the world... get back at you, but at the end, all I really did was punish myself." She stopped for a moment. "It took me a long time to realize that, and to stop blaming everyone else for where I, and only I, had decided to take my life." She stopped and closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and trembled a little._

 _"If its too hard to bring up... we can stop," Harry said again, taking hold of her hands, and squeezing them tight. She sighed, allowing the comforting feeling his big, warm hands brought her as they engulfed her cold, trembling ones._

 _"For a long time I thought you'd broken me beyond repair," she continued as she opened her glistening eyes to him again. "I truly believed that my life was so shattered by your abandonment that I couldn't go on living."_

 _Harry looked down at their entwined hands, watching his thumb moving up and down across the back of her hand. He turned her hands in his, and traced the lines of her palm with his index finger._

 _"But I was wrong, I realize," she continued, looking down at their hands, her eyes welling with tears, "because I did… I lived." She looked up at him. "I raised a son. A son who is good, and kind, and loving, and smart—he's so smart, Harry." She sighed. "So maybe I wasn't as broken as I initially thought I was, because how can a broken person create such a perfect being?"_

 _"He is perfect," Harry said, finally looking up her, his hand moving up to caress her face. "And that's all on_ you." She _leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes, she moved her hand up to grab his and moved it down so that they laid between them, and then she looked up at him a determined look on her face._

 _"Maybe I've always been stronger than I thought, and me saying otherwise was just an excuse for allowing myself to act in such a destructive way." She stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts, looking down at their hands, and then continued. "It took me breaking someone else's heart for me to realize that I'd been wrong, at least up to certain point._

 _"I hated you for such a long time for breaking my heart, and yet I went and did the exact same thing to him... to Daniel," she said, the name coming out like pained sigh._

 _"Daniel," Harry repeated in almost a whisper, taking in the name of man who'd had her. It hurt him to hear that name, a name that brought her such heartache. It should have been him with her, making her happy, not sad, but he'd left her, and she'd found comfort somewhere else, and there was no one to blame for it but himself._

 _"I met Daniel in Italy—" Ginny started to explain, "when I went there looking for you," she told him. Harry nodded so that she knew he was listening. "He was an English wizard, working as an engineer for an American Construction firm that was hired to work on the expansion of the Italian Ministry of Magic._

 _"By the time we met, I'd already found out about Charlie, and I don't know… I just kind of let go, and he was there, and he was so kind, and he looked so much like you that even against my better judgement, I allowed it to go somewhere. When it was all over I regretted it. I couldn't bare the thought of it, and so I went home, and I tried to forget him... I tried to forget everything."_

 _"Once I was back in England, Dad helped me get a job at the Ministry, and then Charlie was born a few months later, and I just started to live my life. Then, when Charlie was a few months old, Daniel came to my office at the Ministry_ _—_ _He'd somehow tracked me down. He'd found me through someone he knew in the English Ministry of Magic, and instead of going back home to America_ _—_ _to work with his uncle_ _—_ _he stayed in England, with me. He always thought Charlie was his, and from the very beginning he asked me to marry him, but I denied him. Still, I stayed with him because I had nothing else, no one else, and while I was with him I could forget how horrible I truly felt inside. He was a good man, he really was. Yes, he was a little unpredictable, but goodhearted nonetheless." She stopped again, then continued._ _"I was with him for over seven years," she confessed, looking down away from him._

 _"Didn't you marry Alan a couple of years after I left?" he stopped. She didn't answer. "I'm not judging you, Ginny, believe me, I would be the last person to throw stones. All I'm asking is why bother marrying him at all?"_

 _"Because, while I've cared about Alan, I've never loved him. He knows it, I know it, everyone knows it."_

 _"More so then; if Daniel was a good man, a man who would have raised Charlie as his own, a man you stayed with even after you were married; Why not just marry him?" he asked._

 _Ginny smiled sadly, as she looked at Harry. Her mother had asked her the same thing when she'd found out about the affair, a couple of years after she'd married Alan._ _Daniel had been a beautiful soul, but he'd been wrong for her on so many levels. He'd loved her—she would not deny that—and she had cared deeply for him, but at the end of it…_

 _"Mum asked me the same once, but no, that would have never worked," she said, voicing her thoughts. "Daniel was, well, he was—he would have made a horrible father, and besides, I was waiting for you, even if I denied it."_

 _"But you_ did _marry Alan."_

 _"Yes I did. Eventually. People have always assumed that I married Alan because he'd gotten me pregnant, and that that's why you'd left, but I met him when I started working at the Ministry, and you were long gone by then. He knew I was pregnant, but still he started to court me._

 _"At first I refused him, I refused him for almost two years, but he was insistent. I told him from the very beginning that I wasn't in love with him, and still he wanted to marry me. He said that love would come eventually, and that he would be patient. He wanted me, he wanted a family with me, and he wanted to be Charlie's father._

 _"No matter what he said then, or even now, I think he's always known I would never love him. Not being able to love him was possibly the only reason I agreed to marry him at all. I could have never loved Alan, but Daniel... Daniel was a man I could have loved_ _—It didn't matter how bad I knew he was for me, I could have loved him, and we might have been happy..._ _for a while at least," she said looking up at Harry, "but he was like a hurricane. He was destructive. A force to be reckoned with. I could never have done that to my son, no matter how much he loved me, how much I could have loved him. For years I tried to leave him, but he always found a way to get me to come back, mostly pity, as sad as that is to admit." Ginny stopped, took a deep breath, readying herself to remember, and to speak those memories out loud for the first time in years._

 _"Finally, one day I did leave him, and then—then it happened—" she stumbled on the last words, her eyes had started watering, and she'd tried to hold them in, but no matter how hard she tried they came pouring out._

 _"What happened?" Harry now had an arm around Ginny, speaking to her in a lulling whisper._

 _"I killed him."_

 _"What? No, Ginny, I could never believe that, not you, not ever," he told her._

 _"I left him, and he died. He said he'd die if I left, and I did either way, and then he was dead. I killed him, I killed him, I—" At last, it was all too much, and she started to cry. She had her head down on his shoulder, and he was holding her tightly._

 _She was sobbing, heaving, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He was telling her everything would be alright, that he was there now, that nothing would hurt her ever again, not as long as he was there._

ooooo

"Aunt Ginny?" Ginny opened her eyes to find Kyle standing in front of her. He was holding a pair of muggle pants, a blue shirt that might belong to one of her brothers, and a pair of old, green rain boots that she'd never seen before.

After promising Kyle Rocco the Furious in exchange for his silence, she watching him out the small window, as he ran off towards the Burrow's front door, a skip to his step.

She'd dressed quickly in the clothes he brought, and again looked out the window of the shed to check if the coast was clear. Unfortunately she had to wait for a while to leave, because her mother was now watching from the doorway, while the boys played in the front garden.

She could see Kyle kept trying to get them back into the house, nervously glancing towards the shed once in a while. It must have about half-an-hour before Ginny was able to exit the shed unseen.

The moment Kyle had managed to get everyone back into the house, and the moment the coast was clear, Ginny ran towards the apparition point a few feet pass the property line of the Burrow, and with a twirl and a pop, she was gone.


End file.
